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CHOICE  READINGS 


CHOICE  READINGS  FOR  PUBLIC 
AND  PRIVATE  ENTERTAINMENTS 
AND  FOR  THE  USE  OF  SCHOOLS 
COLLEGES  AND  PUBLIC  READERS 
WITH    ELOCUTIONARY   ADVICE 


EDITED  BY 

ROBERT  McLEAN  CUMNOCK,  L.  H.  D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  RHETORIC  AND 
ELOCUTION,  AND  DIRECTOR 
OF  THE  SCHOOL,  OF  ORATORY 
NORTHWESTERN  UNIVERSITY 
EVANSTON,    ILLINOIS,   U.  S.  A. 


NEW  AND  DEFINITIVE  EDITION 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO, 

1922 


CdPTRIGBT 

JANSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO, 

1878 .1883 


COPYRIGHT 

A,  G.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1898 .1913 


M.    A.    DONOHUE    &    CO.,   PRINTERS    AND    BINDERS,   CHICAGO 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE 

The  great  wrong  practiced  upon  our  youth  is  that  they  are 
led  to  imitate  an  interpretation  given  to  them  by  some  person 
whom  they  admire,  rather  than  to  ascertain  and  apply  the  princi- 
ples which  govern  the  vocal  expression  of  all  sentiments  and  emo- 
tions that  are  conveyed  by  words. 

The  evil  results  of  such  a  course  of  training  might  be  averted, 
in  a  measure,  if  every  teacher  of  Reading  were  an  artist;  but, 
unfortunately,  few  have  the  time  or  aptitude  for  such  high  attain- 
ments. The  only  safe  course  is  to  ascertain  the  principles  of  vocal 
expression  by  careful  observation  of  nature  in  its  best  moods  and 
manifestations,  and  to  apply  the  rules  thus  obtained  to  such  por- 
tions of  our  literature  as  may  be  easily  classified  with  reference 
to  the  sentiment  or  passion  they  chiefly  express. 

In  this  book  are  contained  selections  from  a  very  wide  range 
of  English  authorship,  such  as  are  thought  to  be  the  best  suited 
to  the  purposes  of  elocutionary  training,  and  public  reading  and 
declamation. 

An  endeavor  has  also  been  made  to  give  such  specific  directions 
as  will  aid  the  intelligent  student  to  acquire  a  just  conception  of 
their  sentiment. 

The  variety  of  the  selections,  added  to  the  fact  that  each  has 
been  chosen  with  reference  to  its  effectiveness  and  availability,  will 
furnish  material  for  every  possible  exercise  in  the  ordinary  require- 
ments of  school  life,  as  well  as  in  the  more  formal  exercise  of 
public  reading  and  declamation. 

The  elocutionary  suggestions  will  appear  as  introductions  to 
the  various  classes  of  selections  in  their  respective  orders: 

First.     —  Pathos. 

Second,  — Solemnity. 

Third.  — Serenity,  Beauty,  Love. 

Fourth.  — Narrative,  Descriptive,  and  Didactic  Styles. 

Fifth,    —  Gayety. 


vi  PREFACE 

Sixth,     —  KuMOR. 

Seventh, —  Grand,  Sublime,  and  Reverential  Styles. 

Eighth.  —  Oratorical  Styles. 

Ninth,    — Abrupt  and  Startling  Styles. 

Tenth,  — Miscellaneous  Selections. 

In  each  class  of  selections  an  endeavor  has  been  made  to  secure 
just  as  pleasing  and  effective  pieces  as  though  the  choice  v^ere  un- 
restricted, and,  at  the  same  time,  to  choose  pieces  that  w^ould  serve 
as  tj^'pes  of  the  sentiment  or  passion  they  are  intended  to  illustrate. 

If,  in  some  cases,  selections  do  not  sustain,  from  beginning  to 
end,  the  sentiment  that  they  are  intended  to  illustrate,  they  are 
placed  w^here  the  leading  or  most  characteristic  sentiment  of  the 
piece  would  require ;  and  it  is  thought  that,  in  most  cases,  the  selec- 
tions are  nearly  perfect  specimens  of  the  several  classes  in  w^hich 
they  are  placed. 

The  compiler  acknowledges,  with  thanks,  the  kind  permission 
of  Messrs.  J.  R.  Osgood  &  Co.,  Hurd  &  Houghton,  and  D,  Apple- 
ton  &  Co.,  to  use  the  poems  of  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Holmes, 
Cary,  Bryant,  and  others,  that  are  in  this  volume,  and  of  which 
they  hold  the  copyright. 

R.  McL.  C. 

Evanston,  III.,  January,  1878. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED  EDITION 

The  greatest  change  in  this  edition  of  "  Choice  Readings  "  is 
the  introduction  of  the  editor's  discussions  of  the  most  important 
topics  in  Elocution.  With  this  addition  the  volume  can  be  used 
as  a  manual  for  instruction,  as  well  as  a  book  of  selections.  The 
chief  difficulties  that  perplex  the  student  of  elocution  are  treated 
in  language  as  simple  as  the  technical  nature  of  the  subject  per- 
mits. The  main  object  in  the  introduction  of  this  new  material 
has  been  to  furnish  the  student  with  practical  working  systems 
leading  up  to  the  certain  acquisition  of  the  fundamental  excellences 
of  good  reading  and  good  speaking.  The  original  order  of  the 
chapters  is  slightly  changed;  the  introductory  remarks  to  each 
chapter  are  retained  with  unimportant  modifications. 

About  one-half  of  the  old  selections  have  been  supplanted  by 
new  ones  which,  it  is  hoped,  will  prove  as  stimulating  and  attrac- 
tive as  their  predecessors.  The  exceptionally  strong  selections  still 
hold  their  places  in  the  volume.  In  the  work  of  preparing  this 
edition  the  editor  received  from  his  associates  in  the  school  of  ora- 
tory valuable  assistance,  which  he  here  gratefully  acknowledges. 
This  revised  edition  is  sent  forth  with  the  confident  belief  that 
it  IS  a  better  and  more  serviceable  book  than  the  old  one;  and  it 
is  hoped  that,  by  making  the  path  to  success  in  public  speaking 
more  clear  and  straight,  it  will  meet  with  public  favor  and  ap- 
proval. 

The  editor  is  greatly  indebted  to  the  following  publishers  for 
permission  to  use  the  selections  from  works  of  which  they  hold  the 
copyright,  viz. :  Harper  and  Brothers,  "  The  Boy  Orator  of 
Zepata  City,'*  from  The  Exiles,  and  "  Her  First  Appearance," 

vii 


viii       PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED  EDITION 

from  Van  Bibber  and  Others;  American  Publishers'  Corporation, 
^*  Scene  from  *  The  Little  Minister'";  The  Century  Company, 
■"*  The  Two  Runaways  "  and  "  The  Trial  of  Ben  Thomas,"  from 
Two  Runaways  and  Other  Stories;  The  Bowen-Merrill  Company, 
"  The  South  Wind  and  the  Sun,"  and  "  Knee-Deep  in  June,"  from 
Afterwhiles,  and  H.  S.  Edwards'  "  Mammy's  Li'l'  Boy." 

R.  McL.  C. 
EvANSTON,  III.,  June,  1898. 


CONTENTS 


Page 

.ENGLISH   PRONUNCIATION i 

HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  DISTINCT  SPEAICER        -        -        -  17 

HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER        ...  27 
EXERCISES  FOR  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY    -     51 

EXERCISES  FOR  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY  63 

THE    ELEVATED    CONVERSATIONAL    VOICE        -        -        -  79 
PRACTICAL    SUGGESTIONS    ON    EMPHASIS,    INFLECTION 

AND    CADENCE           --------  87 

EXPRESSION             99 

NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  STYLES       -  100 

NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  SELECTIONS  -  loi 

A  Similar  Case          -------        Anonymons  29 , 

Old  Chums    - Alice  Gary  30 

The  Brakeman  at  Church        -        -        -        -    Robert  J,  Burdette  33 

An  Order  for  a  Picture Alice  Gary  38 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg Bret  Harte  41 

Hannah  Jane D.  R.  Locke  44 

Hamlet's  Instructions  to  the  Players    -          William  Shakespeare  101 

Books     ---------        Francis  Bacon  xoz 

The  Child- Wife Charles  Dickens  103 

George  the  Third        -        -        -     William  Makepeace   Thackeray  104 

The  Birth  of  Dombey Charles  Dickens  108 

Scene   at   Doctor   BlIxMBEr's        -        -        -        -     Charles   Dickens  m 

Death  of  Paul  Dombey Charles  Dickens  113 

The  Charcoal  Man J,   T,   Trowbridge  116 

Dick  Swiveller  and  the  Marchioness    -        -        Charles  Dickens  117 

Tulkinghorn    and    Mademoiselle    Hortense    -     Charles    Dickens  123 

Passage   of  the   Reform   Bill           -        -        -        Lord   Macaulay  126 
Interview  Between  Aaron  Burr  and  Mary  Scudder 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  128 

GAYETY 131 

GAY  AND   ANIMATED   SELECTIONS 131 

The  Daffodils           -----        William    Wordsworth  131 

Cupid  Swallowed Leigh  Hunt  132 

The  South  Wind  and  the  Sun         -        -        James  Whit^omb  Riley  133 

xi 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Song  of  the  Brook Lord  Tennyson    136 

Fezziwig's  Ball         -.-._-  Charles  Dickens 

The  Ballad  of  the  Brook  -        -        -    Charles  G,  D.  Roberts 

To  A  Skylark Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 

Come  into  the  Garden,  Maud  .        .        -        Lord  Tennyson 

The  Cheap  Jack Charles  Dickens 

K  Hiding  Down  -      Nora  Perry 

HUMOR  - - 

HUMOROUS    SELECTIONS  

Henry  V.'s  Wooing         -        -        -        -  William  Shakespeare 

Widow  Malone  ------  Charles  Lever 

The  Ballad  of  the  Oysterman      -        -        Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
The  Low-Backed  Car       -----  Samuel  Lover 

The  Birth  of  Saint  Patrick         -        -        -        -        Samuel  Lover 

The  Courtin' James  Russell  Loivell 

Kitty  of  Coleraine     -        -        -        -  Charles  Dawson  Shanly 

\  Our  Guide  in  Genoa  and  Rome        -        -        Samuel  L.  Clemens 

The  Subscription  List  Samuel  Lover 

A  Frenchman  on  Macbeth Anonymous 

The  White  Squall         -        -  William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

Larrie  O'Dee  W,   W,  Fink 

The   Rationalistic    Chicken Anonymous 

The  Foxes*  Tails Anonymous 

A  Critical  Situation  _        -        -        .       Samuel  L.  Clemens 

Imph-m        ---------        Anonymous 

The    One-Hoss    Shay  -        -        -        Oliver    Wendell   Holmes 

Chiquita Bret    Harte 

The  Birth  of  Ireland  -----  Anonymous 

Lady  Teazle  and  Sir  Peter      -        -        Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 
An  Encounter  With  An  Interviewer        -        Samuel  L.  Clemens 

By  Telephone Anonymous 

Saunders  McGlashan's  Courtship        -        -        -  Anonymous 

The  Two  Runaways         -        -        -        -        .  H.  S,  Edvuards 

A  Study  in  Nerves Anonymous 

Pickwick  in  the  Wrong  Bedroom         -        -  Charles  Dickens 

PATHOS  

PATHETIC  SELECTIONS 

Selection  from  Enoch  Arden    -       -        -       -       Lord  Tennyson 
Longing  for  Home  -       -       -       -       -       -       -    jean  Ingelow 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Connor  ---------    Anonymous  233 

Break,  Break,  Break Lord  Tennyson  239 

The  Empty  Nest    -----      Emily  Huntington  Miller  240 

The  Ballad  of  Babie  Bell T.  B,  Aldrich  241 

Edward    Gray       -------    Lord    Tennyson  244 

Pictures  of  Memory Alice  Gary  245 

The  Banks  o'  Doon Robert  Burns  246 

Rock  of  Ages      --- ^Anonymous  247  v^' 

The  Volunteer's  Wife M.  A.  Dennison  248 

Our  Folks      ------  Mrs.  Ethel  Lynn  Beers  249 

AuLD  Robin  Gray  Lady  A.  Lindsay  252 

John   Anderson,  My  Jo Robert  Burns  2 si 

SOLEMNITY  254 

SOLEMN  SELECTIONS  -------  -  254 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs         -    Henry  Wads^orth  Longfellow  254 

Thanatopsis William  Cull  en  Bryant  256 

The   Rainy   Day        -        -        -        Henry    Wadsiuorth   Longfellow  258 

The  Blue  and  the  Gray        -----  f,  M.  Finch  259 

The  Death  of  the  Flowers        -        -        fVilliam   Cullen  Bryant  261 

Carcassonne M.  E,  IV,  Sherwood  262  >" 

Funeral    Hymn    ------        James    Montgomery  263 

Crossing  the  Bar  ------    Lord   Tennyson  264 

SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  -------  265 

SELECTIONS  OF  SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  -        -    -  265 

In  an  Atelier T.   B.   Aldrich      36 

Song  -------  sir   Edward   Lytton       54 

DriipTING  ------         Thomas  Buchanan  Read       55 

Passing  Away      - John  Pierpont      58 

Extract  from  the  Lotos-Eaters      -        -        -        -      Lord  Tennyson      60 
Extract  from  Romeo  and  Juliet         -        -        William  Shakespeare      60 

The  Brookside  - Lord  Houghton      61  - 

Endymion  -         -        -         -        Henry    Wadsworth    Longfellow  26$ 

The  Bells  of  Shandon  .        -        -        -  Francis  Mahony  266 

Mary  Donnelly  -----        William  Allingham  268 

Evangeline  on  the  Prairie        -  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  269 

Mandalay      -------  Rudyard  Kipling  270 

Brushwood  -----  Thomas  Buchanan  Read  272 

A  Petition  to  Time        -        -        -        -        Bryan   Waller  Procter  275 

Annabel  Lee      -------      Edgar  Allan  Poe  275 

Sandalphon  -        -        .        -        Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  277 

When  the  Kye  Come  Hame        -        -        -        -        James  Hogg  278 


XVI 


CONTENTS 


Page 
LoCHiNVAR Sir  Walter  Scoit    427 

The  Picket  Guard  -        .        .        _        Mrs,  Ethel  Lynn  Beers 

For  a'  That,  and  a'  That  -  -  -  -  -  Robert  Burns 
Magdalena,  or  the  Spanish  Duel  -  -  -  -  J.  F.  Waller 
The  Three  Bells  -----  John  G.  Whittier 

The  Launching  of  the  Ship      -  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Betsy  and  I  Are  Out      -----        will  M,  Carleton 

Abou  Ben  Adhem Leigh  Hunt 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus      -       Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

I'  Amy  Robsart  and  Richard  Varney  -        -        Sir  Walter  Scott 

The  Countess  Amy  and  Her  Husband  -  -  Sir  Walter  Scott 
Extract  from  Morituri  Salutamus      Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Shamus  O'Brien      -       , J.  S.  Le  Fanu 

The  Glove  and  the  Lions Leigh  Hunt 

The  Elf-Child  and  the  Minister  -  -  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 
Aux    Italiens  -----        Robert    Bulwer-Lytton 

Count  Candespina's  Standard  -  -  -  -  George  H.  Boker 
Her  Letter  .----.--  Bret  Harte 
The  Bugle  Song  _--«.-         Lord  Tennyson 

The  Green  Gnome        -----  Robert  Buchanan 

*  Rom  OLA  AND  Savonarola      ------     George  Eliot 

The  Forging  of  the  Anchor  -        -        -  Samuel  Ferguson 

The  Voices  at  the  Throne      -        -        -        -  r.  Westwood 

Lady  Clare -      Lord  Tennyson 

The  Romance  of  the  Swan's  Nest  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

Scene  from  Henry  the  Fourth  -        -        William  Shakespeare 

Boat  Song Sir  Walter  Scott 

The  Trial  of  Ben  Thomas  -  -  -  -  H.  S.  Edwards 
The  Revolutionary  Rising  -        -         Thomas  Buchanan  Read 

William  Tell  among  the  Mountains  -        Sheridan  Knowles 

The  Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul  -        -        Alexander  Pope 

'  The  Romance  of  a  Rose Nora  Perry 

The  Revenge Lord  Tennyson 

The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram      -        -        -        -        Thomas  Hood 

Jean  Valjean Victor  Hugo 

The  Boy  Orator  of  Zepata  City  -  -  Richard  Harding  Davis 
Ye  Mariners  of  England      -        -        -        -  Thomas  Campbell 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  -  -  -  Julia  Ward  Howe 
The  Angel  and  the  Shepherds      -        -        -        -  Lew  Wallace 

If  I  Were  King  -----  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy 
The  Burgundian  Defiance  -        -         Justin  Huntly  McCarthy 

The  Lion  and  the  Mouse Charles  Klein 

High-Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire      -        -       Jean  Ingelow 


CONTENTS 


xvii 


Page 

Her  First  Appearance  -        -        -        Richard  Harding  Davis  544 

Virginia      --------  Lord  Macaulay  552 

Cuddle  Doon         ------       Alexander  Anderson  555 

FiTZ- James  and  Roderick  Dhu       -        -        -     .      Sir  Walter  Scott  557 

The  Bower  Scene  from  Becket  -        -        -         Lord  Tennyson  562 

Columbus -    Joaquin  Miller  566 

Lorraine       --------      Charles  Kings  ley  567 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Verb Lord  Tennyson  568 

The  Raven Edgar  Allan  Poe  570 v 

Knee-Deep  in  June       -        -        -        -  James  IVhitcomb  Riley  574 

Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells!  -        -        -        _  Lord   Tennyson  $77 

The  Resurrection        -        -        -        -   "    -        -  Ed^in  Arnold  578 

Richelieu Sir  Edivard  Buliver-Lyiion  581 

The  Utility  of  Booing Charles  Macklin  585 

Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May  -  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  590 

INDEX    OF   AUTHORS 597 


CHOICE  READINGS 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION 

A  correct  and  refined  pronunciation  of  words  is  one  of  the 
foundation  stones  upon  which  all  elocutionary  excellence  must 
be  built.  However  much  we  may  deride  the  mechanics  of  speech, 
we  shall  be  brought,  as  we  grow  older  and  wiser,  to  acknowledge 
their  great  impc  rtance.  All  speaking,  however  melodious  or 
expressive,  that  is  marred  by  a  careless  or  provincial  pronunciation, 
must  lose  a  large  share  of  its  effectiveness  by  offending  an  edu- 
cated and  refined  taste.  Nothing  is  truer  than  the  following  state- 
ment of  Alfred  Ayres : 

"  The  manner  in  which  one  speaks  his  mother-tongue  is  looked 
upon  as  showing  more  clearly  than  any  other  one  thing  what  his 
culture  is,  and  what  his  associations  have  been." 

Perhaps  on  no  subject  in  the  whole  range  of  educational  work 
Is  there  so  much  variance  and  uncertainty  as  on  the  subject  of 
English  vowel  sounds.  This  fault  Is  not  to  be  laid  at  the  door  of 
the  student  altogether,  but  rather  should  be  charged  up  to  the 
halting  and  conflicting  opinions  of  the  dictionaries.  A  large 
share  of  the  mischief  has  arisen  from  the  use  of  the  word  obscure. 
This  word,  as  used  by  orthoepists,  is  an  extremely  unfortunate 
one,  because  it  destroys  all  standards  of  ascertainable  truth  In 
pronunciation.  What  Is  obscure  to  one  may  not  be  so  obscure  to 
another;  and  hence  all  standards  which  should  define  the  sound 
to  be  given  to  the  vowel,  are  completely  broken  down.  We  see  no 
higher  motive  in  the  use  of  the  word  obscure  than  an  easy  and 
comfortable  way  to  get  rid  of  difficulties. 

In  the  presentation  of  the  subject  of  English  phonatlon,  two 
things  are  important.  First:  Simplicity  and  clearness  of  state- 
ment.   Second:    A  keen  and  discriminating  appreciation  of  sound. 


2  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  following  table  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  simplest  form  in  which 
the  vowel  sounds  of  the  English  language  can  be  presented. 

TABLE  OF  VOWEL  SOUNDS 


SIMPLE 

DIPHTHONGAL 

I 

a  as  in  all 

7 

e  as  in  term 

13  a  as  in  ale=a+e 

(  a  as  in  arm 

8 

1  as  in  pin 

14  i  as  in  ice=:a+e 

2," 

[  a  as  in  ask 

1  6o  as  in  ooze 

15  0  as  in  old=:::o+6o 

3 

a  as  in  at 

9 

66  as  in  look 

16  oi  as  in  oiI=a+e 

4 

a  as  in  care 

lO 

6  as  in  ox 

17  ou  as  in  our=i:a+oo 

5 

e  as  in  eve 

II 

u  as  in  up 

18  uas  in  use^i+oo 

6 

e  as  in  met 

12 

u  as  in  urge 

or  y+00 

The  student  will  see,  by  the  table,  that  there  are  but  twelve 
simple  vowel  sounds  in  the  language,  and  six  diphthongal  sounds 
—  the  diphthongs  being  made  by  uniting  two  of  the  simple  sounds. 
Long  a,  however,  number  thirteen  in  the  table,  and  long  5,  are 
made  by  uniting  the  name  sound  of  the  letter  with  one  of  the  simple 
sounds;  thus  long  a  =:  a  (the  name  sound)  plus  long  e;  also  long 
0  =  0  (the  name  sound)  plus  6b.  In  our  dictionaries  and  School 
Readers  the  vowel  sounds  are  taught  as  they  appear  to  the  eye, 
and  not  as  they  come  to  the  ear;  thus  the  u  in  bury  is  not  a  u  sound, 
but  a  short  e  as  in  berry ;  also  the  e  in  pretty  is  not  an  e  sound,  but 
a  short  1  as  pritty.  Hence  duplicate  sounds  enlarge  the  dictionary 
list  of  the  vowels.  The  number  of  vowel  sounds  enumerated  in 
dictionaries  and  School  Readers  varies  from  twenty  to  thirty-three. 

By  reducing  the  number  of  vowels  to  twelve,  we  simplify  the 
task  of  the  pupil.  It  is  a  much  easier  matter  to  get  acquainted  with 
twelve  sounds  than  with  thirty-three.  The  following  lists  of 
equivalents  will  show,  to  some  extent,  the  double  and  triple  use  of 
the  simple  vowel  sounds,  and  will  account  for  the  long  list  of  vowel 
sounds  found  in  our  dictionaries. 

Equivalents  whose  pronunciation  is  indicated  without  re- 
spelling  : 

a  as  in  all  is  the  same  sound  as  o  in  or  and  the  6  in  cough, 

a  as  in  care  is  the  same  sound  as  e  in  there. 

e  as  in  eve  is  the  same  sound  as  1  in  pique  and  ee  in  eel. 

e  as  in  fern  is  the  same  sound  as  1  in  sir  and  y  in  c^vrrh. 

I  as  in  ill  is  the  same  sound  as  y  in  hymn. 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION  8 

00  as  in  food  is  the  same  sound  as  o  in  do  and  u  in  true. 

06  as  in  foot  is  the  same  sound  as  9  in  wolf  and  u  in  pull. 

6  as  in  odd  is  the  same  sound  as  a  in  what. 

u  as  in  up  is  the  same  sound  as  6  in  son. 

a  as  in  ale  is  the  same  sound  as  e  in  eight. 

i  as  in  ice  is  the  same  sound  as  y  in  fly. 

Words  whose  vowel  sounds  cannot  be  indicated  without  re- 
spelling  : 

any  pronounced  eny. 

beau  pronounced  bo. 

boy  pronounced  boi- 

breeches  pronounced  britchez. 

bury  pronounced  berry. 

busy  pronounced  bizy. 

says  pronounced  sez. 

dew  pronounced  du. 

hautboy  pronounced  ho'boi. 

pretty  pronounced  pritty. 

quay  pronounced  ke. 

saith  pronounced  seth. 

owl  pronounced  oul. 

sewing  pronounced  so'-ing. 

sergeant  pronounced  sar'-gent. 

word  pronounced  wurd. 

cough  pronounced  kaf. 

In  recent  discussions  of  this  subject,  the  larger  share  of  atten- 
tion has  been  directed  to  the  quantity  of  vowels,  and  the  correct 
accentuation  of  words,  rather  than  to  the  subtle  distinctions  of 
vowel  sound  which  form  the  basis  of  refined  and  elegant  speech. 
The  chief  reason  for  this  is  the  ease  with  which  quantity  and 
accentuation  may  be  determined ;  while  on  the  other  hand  the  diflS- 
culty  of  making  sensible  and  just  discriminations,  in  the  finer  shades 
of  vowel  sound,  has  kept  people  from  venturing  an  opinion  in  that 
direction. 

We  will  now,  as  briefly  as  possible,  discuss  the  vowel  sounds, 
giving  special  consideration  to  those  that  are  most  frequently  mis- 
pronounced. In  class  work,  place  on  the  blackboard  twenty-five 
words  to  illustrate  each  of  the  vowel  sounds  in  the  table,  and  prac- 
tice the  pronunciation  of  these  words  in  concert  until  the  true 
sound  of  each  vowel  is  fully  appreciated.    The  first  vowel  is  calkd 


4 


CHOICE  READINGS 


broad  a ;  marked  in  the  dictionaries  with  two  dots  below  the  letter, 
thus  a  as  in  all.  We  have  little  difficulty  with  this  sound.  Avoid, 
however,  making  broad  a  like  short  6.  Do  not  say  woter  for  water, 
dotter  for  daughter. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


all 

bald 

fought 

balsam 

lawyer 

falconer 

appall 

balk 

form 

daughter 

awful 

albeit 

almost 

broad 

orb 

falchion 

quarter 

laudable 

awe 

brawl 

torpid 

gaudy 

water 

laudanum 

awl 

dawn 

vault 

wharf 

warrior 

laureate 

The  second  vowel  in  the  table  requires  special  attention.  It  is 
called  the  long  Italian  a,  and  is  marked  with  two  dots  above,  thus, 
a  as  in  arm.  This  sound  is  correctly  given  when  followed  by  t 
(as  in  far,  charm) ;  but  there  are  forty  or  more  words  in  our 
language  in  which  the  broad  sound  of  a  as  in  all,  or  the  short 
sound  of  a  as  in  hat,  is  frequently  substituted  for  the  sound  of  the 
long  Italian  a.  Do  not  say  laugh  or  laugh  for  laugh.  Let  the  ear 
be  trained  to  catch  the  correct  vowel  sound,  as  heard  in  arm,  and 
then  secure  the  same  sound  in  the  list  of  words  given  below.  The 
only  way  to  secure  accuracy  in  the  pronunciation  of  these  doubt- 
ful words  is  frequent  repetition,  until  it  becomes  a  habit  to  speak 
them  correctly  at  all  times. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


alms 

flaunt 

launch 

almond 

daunt 

Nevada 

aunt 

gape 

lava 

laughter 

psalm 

Alabama 

calf 

gaunt 

salve 

laundry 

half 

cantata 

calm 

taunt 

suave 

saunter 

palm 

promenade 

The  next  vowel  sound  that  suffers  at  the  hands,  or  rather  the 
tongues,  of  most  people,  even  of  those  liberally  educated,  is  the 
short  Italian  a.  This  vowel  is  the  same  sound  in  quality  as  the 
long  Italian  a,  but  less  in  quantity,  i.  e.,  the  vowel  in  ask  is 
sounded  the  same  as  the  vowel  in  arm;  the  only  difference  is  that 
the  former  is  shorter  than  the  latter. 

To  acquire  the  correct  vowel  quality  in  the  pronunciation  of 
these  words,  a  sustained  sound  of  long  Italian  a  should  be  made, 
until  the  ear  catches  the  precise  shade  of  sound,   then  a  much 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION 


5 


shorter  sound  of  the  same  quality  should  be  made,  and  used  in 
the  pronunciation  of  the  words.  Strict  attention  to  the  quality 
of  vowel  sound  used,  and  frequent  comparisons  with  the  long- 
drawn  Italian  a  sound,  and  frequent  repetition  of  the  list  of 
words  giveii  below  are  all  the  directions  and  cautions  needed,  to 
enable  any  one  to  pronounce  these  frequently  used  words 
correctly. 

Do  not  say  ask  or  ask  for  ask.  The  short  Italian  a  is  found, 
chiefly,  in  monosyllabic  words  ending  in  if,  ss,  sk,  sp,  st,  ft,  nee,  nt. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 

after  basket  advantage 

command  casket  advancing 

demand  enhance  commander 

master  masking  passable 

slanting  pastor  taskmaster 

The  third  vowel  in  the  table  is  short  a  as  in  cat,  bad.  We 
occasionally  hear  this  sound  pronounced  like  short  e,  thus,  cet  for 
cat.  When  short  a  is  followed  by  rr  (as  in  arrow)  or  by  r  and 
a  vowel  (as  in  charity),  it  is  often  incorrectly  sounded  like  a,  as 
in  care. 


ask 

fast 

asp 

staff 

glance 

grant 

cast 

hasp 

grass 

class 

quaff 

pant 

shaft 

chant 

draught 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACT: 

ICE 

bat 
pad 
gas 

Harry          passion 
marry          romance 
larynx         valentine 

jasper 

paramount 

caravan 

caricature 

aquatic 

barbaric 

cant 
thank 
sap 
dazzle 

gamut          carriage 
arid              cassock 
barrel           dastard 
barrow        harass 

cassimere 
classify 
comparison 
character 

carrion 
passenger 
palmistry 
Massachusetts 

The  fourth  vowel  in  the  table  is  frequently  mispronounced, 
and  requires  special  attention.  This  vowel  is  marked  with  a 
caret  over  the  letter,  and  is  called  by  some  orthoepists  the  caret 
a,  by  others  the  circumflex  a,  and  by  still  others  the  medial  a.  In 
some  of  the  northern  sections  of  our  country  we  hear  the  vowel 
pronounced  like  long  a,  while  the  colored  population  of  the 
South,  with  rare  exceptions,  give  it  the  sound  of  Italian  a. 
Observe  that  it  is  neither  parent,  nor  parent,  but  parent;  neither 
hare  nor  har,  but  hair. 


CHOICE  READINGS 
LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


fair 

chair 

tear 

scarce 

fare 

air 

snare 

bare 

there 

spare 

scare 

rare 

stare 

fairy 

lair 

wear 

bear 

swear 

share 

parent 

hair 

square 

dare 

mare 

pair 

garish 

declare 

prepare 

ensnare 

parentage 

We  seldom  hear  any  error  in  the  enunciation  of  the  fifth 
vowel  in  the  table,  long  e  as  in  eve.  When  followed  by  r  (as  in 
ear,  fear)  some  careless  speakers  give  the  vowel  a  sound  that 
verges  toward  short  i,  while  others  pronounce  the  vowel  with  a 
sound  resembling  caret  a. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 

dreary  appearing  experience 

antique  lenient  inferior 

caprice  careering  material 

machine  period  Presbyterian 

marine  retreating  superior 

The  sixth  vowel  in  the  table,  short  e  as  in  met,  is  occasionally 
mispronounced  like  long  a  in  such  words  as  measure,  pleasure. 
When  short  e  is  followed  by  r,  it  is  frequently  given  a  sound  like 
caret  a.    Do  not  say  paril  for  peril  nor  mary  for  merry. 


eke 

near 

believe 

feet 

peer 

receive 

fear 

queer 

ravine 

gleam 

rear 

query 

hear 

tear 

weary 

LIST  OF  .WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


€bb 

hedge 

rent 

measure 

merry 

clerical 

beck 

ken 

said 

pleasure 

peril 

celerity 

deU 

less 

saith 

treasure 

sterile 

herring 

fed 

met 

vest 

bury 

terror 

ker'osene 

gem 

west 

when 

ferry 

very 

severity 

The  seventh  vowel  in  the  table  is  called  the  tilde  e  and  i,  or, 
perhaps  a  better  name,  the  waved  e  and  i.  It  is  the  most  delicate 
vowel  sound  in  the  language,  and  is  frequently  mispronounced. 
The  error  in  the  pronunciation  of  this  vowel  is  in  making  it  like 
the  \i  in  urge;  thus,  we  are  accustomed  to  pronounce  term  as 
though  it  were  spelled  turm.     The  not  overdone  difference  be- 

I     fir 


tween  these  two  sets  of  words 


urn     fur 


indicates  the  distinc- 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION  7 

tion  between  the  correct  and  incorrect  sound  of  the  element* 
The  e  in  term  is  a  more  delicate  and  closer  sound  than  the  u  in 
urge.  The  soft  palate  and  root  of  the  tongue  are  brought  closer 
together,  and  the  whole  surface  of  the  tongue  is  lifted  nearer 
the  roof  of  the  mouth.  Do  not  pronounce  her  like  the  first 
syllable  of  the  word  hurry,  nor  the  word  sir  like  the  first  syllable 
of  surround. 

This  vowel  is  always  followed  by  the  consonant  r,  and  is 
usually  found  in  words  where  the  r  is  not  followed  by  another  r, 
or  where  the  r  is  not  followed  by  a  vowel.  Verbs  having  this 
sound  almost  always  retain  it  when  inflected  or  suffixed,  even 
though  the  r  be  doubled,  as  confer,  conferring.  Examples  where 
we  have  short  e  and  i  when  the  r  is  followed  by  another  r  — 
ferry,  Jerry,  merry,  berry,  mirror.  Examples  where  we  have 
short  e  and  i  when  the  r  is  followed  by  a  vowel  —  peril,  spirit^ 
merit,  very,  virulent. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


earn 

heard 

nerve 

sir 

thirteen 

alter'nately 

bird 

jerk 

pearl 

verge 

circle 

conferring 

dirge 

mirth 

quirk 

dirt 

certain 

deterring 

germ 

learn 

serge 

birch 

ermine 

earnestness 

fern 

myrrh 

term 

perch 

sirloin 

versatile 

birth 

verse 

gird 

first 

kernel 

virtuous 

The  eighth  vowel  in  the  table,  short  i  as  in  pin,  is  usually 
pronounced  correctly.  It  is  sometimes,  however,  carelessly  pro^ 
noifnced  like  long  e  when  followed  by  the  sound  of  sh,  as  in  dish, 
fish,  wish. 


LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 

bib 

jig 

schism 

divan 

condition 

irritable 

did 

kick 

rhythm 

mirror 

sufficient 

gibberish 

fig 

live 

dish 

minute 

elysium 

virulent 

gill 

midge 

fish 

isthmus 

diploma 

lyrical 

him 

niche 

wish 

spirit 

didactic 

peninsula 

The  ninth  vowel  in  the  table  is  a  source  of  trouble  to  most 
people.  I  find  that  many  speakers  are  at  fault  in  pronouncing  a 
few  words  that  take  the  long  oo  as  their  vowel;  for  example. 


CHOICE  READINGS 


boot,  root,  hoof.  As  a  rule,  we  are  apt  to  shorten  the  quantity 
of  the  long  6b;  and  as  a  corrective  the  following  words  ought  to 
be  pronounced   frequently. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


hoof 

root 

roof 

food 

rood 

soon 

rumor 

rue 

gruel 

truce 

croup 

woof 

ruin 

routine 

true 

boot 

moon 

fool 

rural 

cruel 

prune 

brute 

woo 

smooth 

ruthless 

room 

ooze 

rule 

boom 

shoot 

What  we  have  said  about  the  long  oo  may  be  repeated  with 
much  more  emphasis  in  the  consideration  of  the  short  do.  In  the 
case  of  the  long  65  there  is  a  tendency  in  a  few  words,  like  hoof 
and  roof,  to  give  the  vowel  the  sound  of  short  u;  but  in  words  in 
which  short  06  is  the  vowel  we  more  frequently  hear  the  words 
pronounced  with  the  sound  of  short  u  than  the  proper  vowel 
sound,  thus,  buk  for  book,  cuk  for  cook.  Pronounce  frequently 
the  following  words,  and  give  to  the  vowels  the  shortened  form 
of  00  in  food. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


book 

wolf 

brook 

pull 

hood 

bullion 

look 

shook 

could 

put 

good 

bulwark 

hook 

took 

would 

full 

stood 

butcher 

cook 

wool 

should 

push 

rook 

forsook 

nook 

wood 

crook 

bush 

foot 

willful 

The  tenth  vowel  in  the  table,  short  6  as  in  ox,  is  pronounced, 
by  careless  speakers  like  short  u  in  such  words  as  from,  of,  was. 
When  short  6  is  followed  by  rr,  or  by  r  and  a  vowel,  there  is  a 
tendency  to  make  it  like  the  broad  a.    Avoid  saying  maurrow  for 
morrow,  aurigin  for  origin. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


odd 

from 

wash 

closet 

forest 

correct 

of 

doll 

product 

torrid 

foreign 

orator 

off 

gone 

possess 

borrow 

morals 

origin 

cloth 

was 

office 

morrow 

column 

coronet 

The  eleventh  vowel  in  the  table,  short  ii  as  in  up,  is  usually 
pronounced  correctly. 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION 


LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


bud 

hut 

wont 

onion 

hurry 

current 

hub 

jug 

under 

surrey 

scurry 

burrow 

fun 

muff 

nourish 

curry 

worry 

furrow 

gun 

numb 

flourish 

flurry 

courage 

turret 

The  twelfth  vowel  in  the  table,  caret  u  as  in  urge,  is  always 
followed  by  the  consonant  r.  This  sound  gives  us  very  little 
trouble.  Occasionally  we  hear  students  straining  for  an  over-nice 
pronunciation  of  this  vowel,  endeavoring  to  give  it  the  sound  of 
waved  e,  thus,  erge  for  urge. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


burr 

urge 

lurch 

word 

burlesque 

attorney 

cur 

burn 

surge 

work 

journal 

bifurcate 

fur 

cfird 

turn 

worm 

purpose 

colonel 

purr 

furl 

durst 

worst 

purling 

objurgatory 

urn 

hurt 

curst 

purse 

turmoil 

pursuivant 

DIPHTHONGS 

The  long  a,  No.  13  in  the  table,  is  made  by  uniting  the  orig- 
inal element,  or  name  sound  of  the  letter,  with  long  e,  thus 
a=a+e. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


babe 

break 

quake 

dairy 

facial 

a'eronaut 

cape 

lade 

rage 

Mary 

pathos 

barba'rian 

date 

main 

safe 

prairie 

heinous 

cana'ry 

fame 

nave 

bass 

vary 

Sarah 

vaga'ries 

«dght 

plague 

grimace 

wary 

waylay 

perora'tion 

The 

long  i,  No. 

14  in  the  table,  is 

made  by  uniting  Italian  a 

with  long  e,  thus  i= 

=a+e. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 

Vide 

kine 

rhyme 

bias 

bicycle 

declinable 

dyke 

life 

scythe 

finite 

derisive 

deify 

fife 

mire 

gyves 

se'-nile 

dynamite 

diadem 

quite 

nice 

thrive 

syren 

inquiry 

eying 

height 

pipe 

wile 

cycle 

icicle 

guide 

10 


CHOICE  READINGS 


The  long  6,  No.  15  in  the  table,  is  made  by  uniting  the  name 
sound  of  the  letter  with  06,  thus  6^6+00.  The  vanish  into  06 
is  slight. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


bode 

lobe 

board 

lore 

bovine 

ancho'vy 

coke 

note 

court 

roar 

brdoch 

hist5'rian 

dole 

trow 

door 

shore 

glory 

enco'mium 

foam 

won't 

f5ur 

sword 

Dora 

oppo'nent 

hose 

y5re 

hdard 

toward 

Ndrah 

zoology 

The  diphthong  oi  is  made  by  uniting  broad  a  with  e,  thus 
oi=a-|-e. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


boy 

join 

buoyant 

cloister 

avoirdupois 

buoy 

Lloyd 

alloy 

poison 

hoidenish 

choice 

moist 

ointment 

noisome 

clairvoyance 

foU 

poise     ' 

poignant 

oyster 

loyalty 

hoist 

void 

royal 

loiter 

reconnoiter 

The  diphthong  ou  is  made  by  uniting  Italian  a  and  oo,  thus 
ou=a4-oo. 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 


bough 

mount 

tower 

drowsy 

counter 

countersign 

cowl 

now 

vouch 

fountain 

foundling 

counselor 

doubt 

pout 

hound 

vowel 

gouty 

cowardice 

fowl 

rouse 

blouse 

rowdy 

houseless 

dowager 

house 

sour 

drought 

resound 

mouthing 

lowering 

The  diphthong  long  u  has  always  been  a  stumbling  block  to 
the  most  of  our  public  speakers.  According  to  the  best  orthoepists, 
it  is  equivalent  to  the  sound  of  the  consonant  y  and  oo;  thus 
u=:y+oo.  The  only  way  to  prove  this  is  to  make  the  sound  of  y 
and  00  in  rapid  succession  and  blend  them ;  or  we  may  say  that  in 
pronunciation  u=you.  Here  the  y  forms  the  initial  part  of  the 
diphthong  and  ou  the  oo  part.  When  the  long  u  stands  as  a 
syllable  by  itself,  we  experience  no  difficulty  in  hearing  the  diph- 
thongal sound;  thus,  ed-yoo-cate,  yoo-nite,  etc.  In  such  cases  we 
iiever  think  of  dropping  the  y  part  of  the  diphthong,  and  saying 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION  11 

ed-oo-cate;  also  when  long  u  does  not  form  a  syllable  by  itself,  but 
is  found  in  combination  with  certain  consonants,  we  always  hear 
the  initial  y  and  the  sound  of  oo ;  thus,  mute  —  we  never  hear  the  y 
suppressed  and  the  word  pronounced  moot;  we  never  hear  beauty 
pronounced  booty,  cute  pronounced  coot,  or  pure  pronounced  poor. 
The  trouble  in  pronouncing  this  diphthong  occurs  when  any  of 
the  following  consonants,  d,  t,  1,  n,  s,  or  th  happens  to  come  before 
a  long  u;  thus,  we  are  apt  to  pronounce  duty  as  though  it  were 
spelled  dooty  —  i.  e.  we  make  the  long  u  in  such  cases  equal  to  oo ; 
but  it  is  equal,  as  we  have  shown,  to  y+oo.  The  question  then 
to  be  answered  in  this.  Why  do  we  suppress  the  y  part  of  the  diph- 
thong whenever  d,  t,  1,  n,  s,  or  th  happens  to  come  before  a  long  u  ? 
Simply  because  d,  t,  1,  n,  s,  and  th  are  made  in  the  fore  part  of  the 
mouth  by  the  tip  of  the  tongue  and  teeth,  and  the  y  part  of  the 
diphthong  is  made  by  the  palate.  We  see  plainly  that  to  pass  from 
the  front  part  of  the  mouth  to  the  palate  is  the  greatest  possible 
distance  in  the  articulative  machinery,  hence  it  is  easier  to  pass 
from  d,  t,  1,  n,  s,  and  th  to  the  oo  sound  than  to  take  up  the  inter- 
mediate y.  The  rule  then  in  all  cases  where  d,  t,  1,  n,  s,  and  th 
precedes  the  long  u  is  this:  always  introduce  the  sound  of  y  as  the 
initial  part  of  the  diphthong,  with  this  added  caution  that  it  be 
given  with  as  slight  a  sound  as  possible,  to  avoid  affectation, 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRACTICE 

duke        thews  duty  duet  dubious  indubitable 

tutor  tiiberose  maturity 

Tuesday  lubricate  illuminate 

nuisance  numerous  innumerable 

Matthew  studious  enthusiasm 

supine  institute  superiority 

The  pupil  must  be  impressed  from  the  foregoing  discussion 
that  the  vowels  whose  pronunciation  requires  the  most  careful 
attention  are  the  long  Italian  a  and  short  Italian  a  No.  2,  the 
caret  a  No.  4,  the  waved  e  and,  i  No.  7,  the  long  60  and  short  60 
No.  9,  and  the  diphthongal  long  u  No.  18.  In  order  that  the 
life-long  habits  of  mispronunciation  may  be  amended,  continuous 
daily  practice  of  the  lists  of  words,  with  special  attention  to  the 
five  difficult  vowel  sounds  mentioned,  is  recommended  as  abso* 


tune 

dew 

tumult 

lute 

tube 

Lucy 

nude 

Luke 

neuter 

suit 

new 

-  Susan 

due 

diide 

tulip 

12 


CHOICE  READINGS 


lutely  necessary.  A  knowledge  of  what  is  right  does  not  always 
insure  the  practice  of  what  is  right. 

Unless  this  rigid  and  continuous  practice  be  kept  up  for  a 
long  time,  the  student  will  find  himself  unconsciously  slipping 
back  to  the  old  and  incorrect  pronunciation.  The  main  thing  is 
to  keep  the  subject  constantly  before  the  student.  This  can  be 
done  in  a  very  simple  and  practical  way.  Let  each  student  procure 
a  piece  of  cardboard  30x15  inches,  and  arrange  the  words  for 
practice  in  vertical  columns.  It  is  not  necessary  to  include  all  the 
lists  of  words  in  this  chart,  but  simply  those  that  illustrate  the  five 
vowel  sounds  that  are  the  most  difficult.  The  chart  should  be 
hung  on  the  wall  of  the  study  room,  and  the  words  printed  or 
written  large  enough  to  be  seen  at  a  considerable  distance.  The 
words  should  be  repeated  several  times  a  day  until  ease  and  accu- 
racy in  their  pronunciation  is  attained.  It  will  require  patience 
and  industry  to  break  up  long  established  habits  of  mispronuncia- 
tion, but  the  plan  suggested  is  the  simplest  and  surest  method  to 
accomplish  the  task. 

Outline  of  Chart  for  the  Vowel  Sounds. —  Practice  vowel 
sounds  to  secure  accuracy  in  pronunciation. 

TABLE  OF  VOWEL  SOUNDS 

SIMPLE  DIPHTHONGAL 


I 

a  as  in 

all. 

7 

e  as  in  term. 

13 

a  as  in 

ale=:a-|-e. 

2 

1 

a  as  m  arm. 

8 

lasm 

pin. 

14 

i  as  in  ice=a-|-e. 

a  as  in 

ask. 

9 

&c. 

15 

&c. 

•-— • 

3 

&c. 

10 

16 

ZZI 

4 

II 

17 

= 

5 

12 

18 

= 

6 

5 

12 

18 

= 

0 

Vowel  sounds  that  give  us  the  most  trouble  in  pronunciation: 

Long    Ital- 
ian a. 

Short  Ital- 
ian a. 

Caret  a. 

Waved  e 
and  T. 

Long  GO. 

Short  06. 

Long  u. 

alms 

ask 

fair 

earn 

hoof 

book 

duke 

aunt 

staff 

snare 

bird 

room 

look 

tune 

calf 

cast 

stare 

dirge 

ooze 

hook 

lute 

calm 

class 

share 

germ 

rumor 

cook 

nude 

etc 

etc 

etc 

etc 

etc 

etc 

etc 

The  full 
the  vertica 

table  of  vo 
J  columns  0 

wel  sounds 
f  words  for 

should  appe 
practice  sho 

ar  on  the  c 
uld  be  filled 

ompleted  ch 
out 

art,  and 

ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION  13 

Constant  use  of  the  table  of  vowel  sounds  is  necessary  in 
order  that  pupils  may  be  trained  to  detect  vowel  sound  as  rapidly 
as  they  read  words. 

EXAMPLES  FOR  ILLUSTRATION 

4  8        IS      7    i8  8      17         2  3    3     6    8    8         18        8       9        13 

There  is  no  virtue  without  a  characteristic  beauty  to  make 

8     2      8     18  X2    8      II  10         II         9         3  9        13  II      3        2    13 

it  particularly  loved  of  the  good,  and  to  make  the  bad  ashamed 

10  4  6      6       10     8 

of  their  neglect  of  it. 

The  diacritical  marks  may  be  used  in  this  exercise,  although 
I  prefer  the  numerals  for  two  reasons.  First :  It  is  not  necessary, 
in  using  the  numerals,  to  respell  words  like  bury,  any,  etc. 
Second:  Students,  w^ho  are  not  sure  of  their  knowledge  of 
vowel  sound,  can  make  diacritical  marks  so  ingeniously  that  no 
teacher  can  tell  what  they  mean. 

EXAMPLES  FOR  PRACTICE 

Mark  the  vowels  in  the  following  sentences: 
The  mourners  went  home  in  the  morning. 
Honesty  is  the  best  policy. 
Blood,  says  the  pride  of  life,  is  more  honorable  than  money. 

In  some  of  the  recently  published  dictionaries,  there  is  a 
strong  tendency  in  the  direction  of  current  pronunciation.  This 
is  to  be  commended,  provided  the  movement  does  not  become  so 
radical  as  to  interfere  seriously  with  the  standards  of  good  taste 
in  pronunciation.  We  are  yielding,  I  fear,  too  much  to  the  easy 
way  of  pronouncing  words,  and  allowing  ourselves  to  hold  in  light 
esteem  some  of  the  delicate  distinctions  in  vowel  sound  that  have 
given  to  cultivated  speech  its  distinctive  charm.  The  duty  of 
the  conscientious  student  of  elocution  is  to  conserve  all  that  adds 
to  the  grace  and  finish  of  human  speech,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
to  avoid  the  weakness  of  over-nicety  and  oddness.  We  have 
endeavored  in  this  discussion  to  present  a  positive  and  working 
system  of  English  phonation.  We  have  given  to  each  vowel  sound 
a  definite  existence,  and  have  contended  for  a  phonation  clearly 
outlined  and  fixed  in  its  quality  and  quantity. 

We  have  not  driven  the  short  Italian  a  into  obscurity,  nor 
have  we  seen  our  way  clear  to  merge  the  pleasing  sound  of  waved  e 


U  CHOICE  READINGS 

and  i  into  the  sound  of  caret  u.  We  are  content  to  allow  the 
long  u  and  short  6  a  continuance  of  their  honorable  existence, 
and,  though  strenuous  for  the  nicest  distinctions  in  phonation,  we 
have  not  thought  it  wise  to  disturb  the  relationship  of  the  long  and 
the  short  oo.  Although  aware  that  the  positions  taken  are  in 
agreement  with  the  majority  of  the  ablest  authorities,  yet  we 
are  on  the  anxious  seat  of  improvement,  and  will  welcome  any 
innovation  that  promises  reform,  or  any  change  that  will  insure 
progress. 

It  may  be  of  service,  in  this  connection,  to  offer  a  few  words 
of  advice  in  the  management  of  Pronunciation  Matches.  A  large 
proportion  of  the  words  that  we  have  seen  submitted  for  tests 
in  pronunciation,  have  been  those  seldom  or  never  used.  The 
exercise,  to  be  of  the  highest  educational  value,  should  include 
only  words  in  current  use.  We  must  seek  to  lift  pronunciation 
from  the  low  level  of  the  puzzle  to  the  higher  ground  of  useful 
knowledge.  It  is  worse  than  a  waste  of  time  to  ask  any  one  to 
learn  the  pronunciation  of  words  he  never  uses  himself,  and  never 
saw  before  they  were  presented  for  pronunciation.  Again,  great 
care  should  be  taken  not  to  condemn  a  pronunciation  because  it  is 
not  the  pronunciation  in  your  dictionary.  Perhaps  on  investi- 
gation you  will  find  just  as  weighty  authority  approving  it  as  you 
found  condemning  it.  The  only  safe  and  useful  thing  that  can 
be  done  in  this  matter  is  to  prepare  a  list  of  common  words  usually 
mispronounced,  and  in  the  correct  pronunciation  of  which  the 
authorities  are  substantially  agreed, 

LIST  OF  WORDS  FOR  PRONUNCIATION  MATCHES 

accent  ak'-sent   (noun) 

accent  ak-sen't   (verb) 

address  ad-dres'   (both  noun  and  verb) 

aforesaid  a-for'-sed 

alias  a'-li-as 

allege  al-lej' 

amenable  a-me'-na-bl 

apparatus  ap-pa-ra'-tus 

ay  or  aye  a  (meaning  always) 

ay  or  aye  i   (meaning  yes) 

betrothal  be-troth'-al  (th  asp) 


ENGLISH  PRONUNCIATION 


£5 


blatant 

bla'-tant 

breeches 

britch'ez 

brigand 

brig'-and              * 

chasten 

cha'-s'n 

chastisement 

chas'-tiz-ment 

cleanly 

clen'-li   (adverb) 

cleanly 

clen^-li   (adj.) 

clique 

clek 

condolence 

c6n-d5'-lens 

demise 

de-miz' 

designate 

des'-ig-nat   (hissing  s) 

discourse 

dis-kors'   (noun  and  verb) 

falcon 

fak'n 

flaccid 

flak'-sid 

forensic 

fo-ren'-sik   (hissing  s) 

hypocrisy 

hi-p6k'-ri-si 

idea 

i-de'-a 

impious 

im'-pi-us 

integral 

in'-te-gral 

intrinsic 

in-trin-sik   (hissing  s) 

inventory 

in'-ven-td-ri 

javelin 

jav'-lin 

legislature 

lej'-is-la-ture 

magazine 

mag-a-zen' 

patriotism 

pa'-tri-ot-ism 

preface 

pref-as   (noun  and  verb) 

presentiment 

pre-sent'-i-ment   (hissing  s) 

primary 

pri'ma-ri 

program 

pro'-gram 

prosaic 

pro-za'-ik 

protestation 

prot-es-ta'-shiin 

quickening 

kwik'-ning 

recess 

re-ces' 

resource 

re-sors' 

sedative 

sed'-a-tiv 

sieve 

siv 

sinecure 

si'-ne-kur 

spectator 

spek-ta'-tor 

swarthy 

swarth'-i   (th  asp) 

thither 

thith'-er  (both  subvocal  th) 

16  CHOICE  READINGS 

truths  truths    (th.  asp) 

unfrequented  un-fre-kwent'-ed 

version  ver'-shun 

yours  urz 

youths  uths  (th  asp) 


HOW  CAN  1  BECOME  A  DISTINCT 
SPEAKER? 

A  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question  must  be  of  great  prac- 
tical value  to  every  lover  of  good  reading  and  good  speaking. 

As  indistinctness  is  the  prominent  fault  of  public  address,  so 
the  discovery  of  a  remedy  for  indistinctness  must  be  to  the  majority 
of  speakers  the  most  desirable  and  most  useful  knowledge.  It  is 
a  very  general  belief  that  indistinctness  is  a  personal  disability 
which  can  be  only  partially  removed,  and  that  it  will  ever  continue 
as  a  hindrance  to  the  public  success  of  the  unfortunate  individual. 
The  truth  is,  however,  that  any  person  of  even  feeble  and  imper- 
fect articulation  may  become  a  distinct  speaker.  A  notable  casft 
came  under  my  observation  and  care  a  few  years  since.  A  minister 
who  had  been  relieved  from  work  because  of  indistinctness,  applied 
to  me  for  instruction.  I  found  that  he  had  been  tormented  by  his 
brethren  with  some  such  general  advice  as  this:  "  Speak  distinctly." 
"  Do  not  run  your  words  together,"  etc.  The  poor  man  was  not 
able  to  profit  by  such  indefinite  criticism.  He  had  never  been 
trained  to  use  his  articulative  organs,  and,  as  is  sometimes  the  case, 
had  become  more  indistinct  in  his  enunciation  during  the  four 
years  of  his  ministry.  He  was  helpless,  discouraged,  broken- 
hearted ;  but  at  the  end  of  two  months*  practice  in  the  correct  and 
vigorous  use  of  his  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips,  he  went  back  to  work 
a  moderately  distinct  speaker.  He  continued  to  improve,  and  is 
now  one  of  the  most  distinct  speakers  and  one  of  the  most  suc- 
cessful ministers  in  his  denomination.  I  cite  this  case  for  the 
encouragement  of  all  who  may  be  similarly  afflicted,  and  to  add 
emphasis  to  what  follows. 

It  is  not  personal  endowment  that  enables  one  man  to  speak 
more  distinctly  than  another,  but  simply  industry.  Genius  plays 
a  very  small  part  in  the  acquisition  of  a  distinct  utterance.  It  is 
work,  intelligently  directed  and  persistently  pursued,  that  masters 
the  difficulties  and  secures  the  desired  results. 

The  distinct  pronunciation  of  words  depends  entirely  on  a 

17 


18 


CHOICE  READINGS 


nimble  use  of  the  tongue,  teeth,  lips,  and  palate.  Sound  is  made 
in  the  glottis,  and  when  it  reaches  the  mouth,  the  tongue,  teeth, 
and  lips  form  it  into  syllables  and  words.  Now,  any  exercise  which 
will  give  the  pupil  an  energetic  and  rapid  use  of  these  organs  of 
articulation  will  certainly  insure  distinctness. 

Great  care,  time,  and  expense  are  lavished  on  the  rudimentary 
training  of  the  tyro  in  piano  playing.  Weeks,  months,  and  years 
are  given  up  to  exercises  to  develop  strength  and  dexterity  in  the 
use  of  the  fingers,  hands,  and  wrists  of  the  young  performer ;  and 
yet  in  ordinary  articulation  we  use  our  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips  as 
rapidly  as  the  pianist  uses  his  fingers,  and  expect  distinctness  in 
speaking  without  any  preliminary  practice.  Careful  and  continued 
practice  in  articulation  by  all  public  speakers  is  as  necessary  as  the 
constant  and  laborious  practice  of  the  piano  player  to  secure  perfect 
technique  in  playing. 

No  one  knows  so  well  as  the  painstaking  public  speaker  the 
truth  of  the  above  statement.  The  fear  of  indistinctness  haunts 
him  in  every  public  effort,  and  keeps  him  keyed  up  to  the  most 
exacting  demands  of  his  audience.  Since  indistinctness  may  be 
overcome  by  industry,  he  can  never  forgive  himself  if  he  falls  a 
victim  to  his  own  easy  indifference.  And  it  is  well  that  this  burden 
should  be  laid  on  all  public  speakers,  for  surely  nothing  is  more 
irritating  to  an  audience  than  a  slipshod,  mumbling  utterance.  Not 
only  is  the  time  of  the  hearers  wasted  while  listening  to  such  a 
speaker,  but  they  are,  through  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  man, 
subjected  to  a  gratuitous  persecution. 

I  wish  to  indicate  a  system  of  practice  which,  if  diligently  pur- 
sued, will  give  the  pupil  such  strength  and  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  the  articulative  organs  that  indistinctness  will  be  impossible. 

TABLE  OF  CONSONANT  SOUNDS 

Arranged  with  reference  to  the  organs  by  which  they  are  formed 


Lips. 

Lips  and 
Teeth, 

Teeth  and 
Tongtu. 

Tongue  and 
Palate. 

Teeth,  Tongue, 
and  Palate. 

b    as  in  babe 
m    **  *'  maim 
p      ••   "  pipe 
w    **  "  woe 
wh  '*   **  when 

i    as  in  fife 
V    "    "  valve 

th    as  in  thin 
th     •*   "  thine 

ch  as  in  church 
d    "    "  did 

1     **    •*  judge 
k    "    "  cake 
1     "    "   lull 
n     "    "   nun 
ng  "    "   song 
t     "    "  tent 

r     as  in  rap 
r      "  *'    war 
s      *'  **   cease 
sh    *'  **   push 

y            ..      ..       yet 

z      **  **  zone 
zh    "  **    azur 

M,  n,  and  ng  are  somedsies  called  nasal  consonants. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  DISTINCT  SPEAKER?  19 

The  First  Step  in  the  practice  is  the  mastery  of  the  conso- 
nantal elements.  The  correct  pronunciation  of  the  vowel  sounds 
secures  elegance  and  refinement  in  speech,  but  distinctness  in  utter- 
ance depends  entirely  upon  the  rapid  and  energetic  articulation  of 
the  consonants. 

A  definite  knowledge  of  the  position  of  the  tongue,  teeth  and 
lips  is  essential  to  the  accurate  production  of  these  consonantal 
sounds. 

The  subtonic  b  is  made  by  a  firm  compression  of  the  lips.  The 
vocal  resonance,  which  is  heard  in  the  interior  of  the  head  and 
mouth,  reaches  a  maximum  when  the  lips  are  suddenly  opened. 
Pronounce  the  word  babe  and  pronounce  the  final  b  until  the 
sound  of  the  consonant  is  distinctly  apprehended. 

The  subtonic  m  is  made  by  a  gentle  compression  of  the  lips 
which  forces  the  vocal  resonance  through  the  nostrils.  Prolong 
the  final  consonant  in  the  word  maim. 

The  atonic  p  is  formed  with  the  organs  in  the  same  position  as 
in  making  b.  The  lips  are  intensely  compressed,  and  the  maximum 
of  pressure  is  followed  by  an  aspirated  explosion.  Pronounce  the 
word  pipe  and  execute  with  special  force  the  final  consonant. 

The  subtonic  w  is  the  sound  of  oo,  with  a  slight  breathing 
before  the  vowel.  Let  the  lips  be  rounded  as  in  pronouncing  oo, 
and  then  draw  the  lips  closer  to  the  teeth,  and  contract  the  labial 
aperture  as  in  whistling.  The  word  woe  is  suggested  for  practice, 
woez=iw-\-o.  Make  the  sound  of  w,  then  of  o,  and  then  blend 
them. 

The  diagraph  wh  is  regarded  by  Bell  as  a  whispered  form  of  «/. 
In  forming  it,  the  lips  are  closely  approximated,  and  then  rapidly 
separated.  Pronounce  the  word  when,  and  endeavor  to  get  the 
initial  sound. 

The  subtonic  v  is  made  by  placing  the  ridge  of  the  under  lip 
against  the  edges  of  the  upper  teeth,  and  forcing  the  vocalized 
breath  between  the  teeth.  Care  should  be  taken  to  raise  the  upper 
lip  In  order  to  prevent  its  Interfering  with  the  upper  front  teeth. 
The  word  valve  is  suggested  for  practice. 

The  aspirate  /  is  the  cognate  of  v,  and  Is  made  in  the  same 
manner,  with  this  difference  only,  that  the  lip  and  teeth  are  more 
closely  compressed  and  the  un vocalized  breath  Is  more  forcibly  ex- 
pelled.   Pronounce  the  word  fife  with  special  force  on  the  final  /. 

The  subtonic  th^  which  is  the  occasion  of  so  much  trouble  to 


20  CHOICE  READINGS 

foreigners  learning  our  language,  is  in  reality  one  of  the  easiest 
consonants  to  produce.  The  tip  of  the  tongue  is  pressed  forcibly 
under  and  against  the  upper  front  teeth,  the  lips  are  slightly  parted, 
and  the  vocalized  breath  is  expelled  between  the  teeth.  The  word 
thine  is  suggested  for  practice.  The  atonic  th  is  a  forcible  aspira- 
tion executed  with  the  organs  in  a  similar  position,  the  only  differ- 
ence being  the  absence  of  vocality.  Practice  the  word  thin  with 
special  reference  to  the  initial  sound. 

The  atonic  ch  has  generally  been  considered  as  a  compound  of 
/and  sh.  This  analysis  is  questioned.  The  sound  is  made  by 
placing  the  tip  of  the  tongue  with  energy  against  the  interior  ridge 
of  upper  gum,  with  the  teeth  shut.  The  sudden  break  of  this  con- 
tact of  the  organs  permits  the  breath  to  escape  in  the  sound  of  the 
explosive  ch.    Prolong  the  final  ch  in  the  word  church. 

The  subtonic  d  is  made  by  placing  the  tip  of  the  tongue  with 
great  energy  against  the  interior  ridge  of  gum  over  the  upper  front 
teeth.  The  soft  palate  is  raised  to  prevent  the  passage  of  air 
through  the  nose.  The  vocal  resonance  is  by  these  acts  of  closure 
arrested  until  the  maximum  of  pressure  results  in  the  explosive  d. 
Pronounce  did  until  the  sound  of  the  final  d  is  fully  appreciated. 

The  subtonic^  is  produced  by  carrying  the  tongue  back  in  a 
curved  position  against  the  palate,  thereby  compressing  the  vocal- 
ized breath,  which  issues  in  the  explosive  ^  when  the  organs  relax. 
Prolong  for  practice  the  final  g  in  the  word  gag. 

The  subtonic  ;  has  generally  been  regarded  as  a  compound  of 
d  and  zh.  There  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  accuracy  of  this  analysis. 
The  sound  is  made  by  arching  the  fore  part  of  the  tongue  against 
the  roof  of  the  mouth,  forming  a  temporary  contact,  which  is 
suddenly  broken,  allowing  the  sound  to  escape  with  a  forcible  ex- 
pulsion. Practice  the  word  judge  with  special  reference  to  the 
initial  sound. 

The  atonic  k  is  made  by  a  movement  and  position  of  the  tongue 
and  palate  similar  to  that  used  in  producing  the  subtonic  g.  The 
compression  of  breath,  however,  is  much  greater,  and  the  conse-' 
quent  explosion  more  abrupt  and  forcible.  Pronounce  the  word 
cake,  dwelling  with  special  force  upon  the  final  consonant. 

The  subtonic  /  is  made  by  raising  the  tongue  toward  the  roof 
of  the  mouth  with  the  tip  against  the  interior  ridge  of  gum  over 
the  front  teeth,  allowing  the  vocalized  breath  to  escape  over  the 
sides  of  the  tongue.    Prolong  the  final  consonant  in  the  word  lull. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  DISTINCT  SPEAKER?  21 

The  subtonic  n  is  produced  by  placing  the  tip  of  the  tongue 
against  the  interior  ridge  of  gum  immediately  above  the  upper 
front  teeth,  thereby  obstructing  the  oral  passage,  and  forcing  the 
vocalized  sound  through  the  nose.  Prolong  the  final  n  in  the 
w^ord  nun. 

The  subtonic  ng  is  made  by  bringing  the  root  of  the  tongue 
into  contact  with  the  soft  palate,  compelling  the  sound  to  escape 
through  the  nose.  The  nostrils  are  partially  closed,  so  that  a 
marked  resonance  is  produced  in  the  nasal  cavities.  Prolong  the 
ng  in  song. 

The  atonic  /  is  made  in  the  same  way  as  the  letter  d,  with  this 
difference;  in  the  case  of  the  /  there  is  an  absence  of  vocality,  and 
the  explosive  /  is  heard  when  the  forcible  contact  of  the  tip  of  the 
tongue  with  the  interior  ridge  of  upper  gum  is  suddenly  broken^ 
Pronounce  the  word  tent  with  special  reference  to  the  final  con- 
sonant. 

The  vibrant  r  is  made  by  placing  the  tongue  with  the  slightest 
pressure  against  the  interior  ridge  of  gum  over  the  front  teeth,  and 
allowing  the  vocalized  sound  to  pass  over  the  extreme  tip,  thereby 
causing  it  to  vibrate.  The  trill  should  never  be  prolonged.  The 
word  rap  is  suggested  for  practice. 

The  smooth  r  is  made  by  a  gentle  vibration  of  the  entire  tongue,. 
which  is  slightly  drawn  back  and  lifted  near  the  roof  of  the  mouth. 
Prolong  the  final  consonant  in  the  word  war. 

The  atonic  s  is  made  by  rounding  up  the  tip  of  the  tongue 
against  the  interior  gum  immediately  over  the  front  teeth,  forming 
a  small  aperture  for  the  escape  of  the  breath.  The  forcible  aspira- 
tion produced  by  this  partial  closure  resembles  the  sound  of  water 
under  pressure  as  it  escapes  from  the  nozzle  of  a  pipe.  Prolong 
the  final  consonant  in  the  word  cease  until  the  true  sound  of  s  Is 
appreciated. 

The  atonic  sh  is  formed  in  a  manner  similar  to  the  subtonic  zh, 
the  blade  of  the  tongue  being  well  rounded  toward  the  roof  of  the 
mouth,  and  the  breath  expelled  with  great  force,  giving  a  highly 
aspirated  sound.    Prolong  the  final  sh  in  the  word  push. 

The  consonant  y,  like  the  w,  is  a  vowel  with  a  breathing.  The 
organs  are  placed  in  very  much  the  same  position  in  making  the  y 
as  in  making  long  e.  The  palate  and  the  root  of  the  tongue,  how- 
ever, are  brought  more  closely  together,  so  that  the  initial  sound 
IS  a  mere  buzz  or  breathing.    The  pressure  of  the  tongue  against 


22  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  teeth  is  also  much  greater  than  in  the  production  of  the  vowel. 
Let  special  attention  be  paid  to  the  initial  sound  of  the  word  yes* 

The  subtonic  z  is  made  with  the  organs  in  the  same  general 
position  as  in  making  the  atonic  s.  The  pressure,  however,  is  very 
much  less,  and  the  breath  is  vocalized,  not  aspirated,  sound.  Pro- 
long the  initial  consonant  sound  in  the  word  zone. 

The  subtonic  zh  is  produced  by  raising  the  whole  fore  part  of 
the  tongue  close  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  with  the  teeth  nearly 
shut,  and  allowing  a  partially  vocal  sound  to  escape  between  the 
tongue  and  the  teeth.  Prolong  the  final  sound  in  the  first  syllable 
of  the  word  azure. 

To  some  the  foregoing  analysis  may  seem  unnecessarily  minute, 
but  exactness  in  articulation  cannot  be  secured  without  the  closest 
attention  to  details  in  the  formation  and  execution  of  these  conso- 
nantal elements.  Practice  these  sounds  until  they  can  be  made  with 
precision,  rapidity,  and  energy. 

The  Second  Step  is  the  mastery  of  final  combinations.  This 
is  the  most  important  step  in  the  practice,  for  it  is  the  final  conso- 
nants that  we  fail  to  articulate.  The  method  of  practice  is  as 
follows :  take  for  example  the  final  combination  Id. 

( 1 )  Articulate  the  I,  then  the  d, 

(2)  Articulate  the  combination  Id. 

(3)  Pronounce  the  word  hold. 

The  order  of  practice  suggested  above  should  be  strictly  pur* 
sued,  in  order  that  accuracy  may  be  secured,  not  only  in  the  articu- 
lation of  each  element,  but  also  in  the  blending  of  two  or  more 
consonants.  The  pronunciation  of  the  word  is  also  important  in 
practice,  as  it  constantly  calls  attention  to  the  measure  of  energy 
needed  in  uttering  distinctly  the  closing  sounds  of  words.  Practice 
the  final  combinations  below  in  the  manner  indicated  above* 

Id  —  bold,  hailed,  tolled. 

If  —  elf,  wolf,  gulf,  sylph. 

Ik  —  milk,  silk,  bulk,  hulk. 

Im  —  elm,  helm,  whelm,  film. 

Ip  —  help,  gulp,  alp,  scalp. 

Is  —  falls,  tells,  toils,  halls. 

It  —  fault,  melt,  bolt,  hilt. 

Ive  —  elve,  delve,  revolve. 

md  —  maim*d,  claimed,  gloom'd. 

ms  —  streams,  gleams,  climes. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  DISTINCT  SPEAKER?  28 

^      nd  —  land,  band,  and,  hand. 

ns  —  dens,  runs,  gains,  gleans. 

nk  —  bank,  dank,  sank,  link. 

nee  —  dance,  glance,  hence. 

nt  —  ant,  want,  gaunt,  point. 

sm  —  chasm,  schism,  prism. 

sp  —  asp,  clasp,  grasp. 

St  —  vast,  mast,  lest. 

ct  —  act,  fact,  reject. 

pn  —  op'n,  rip^n,  weap'n. 

kn  —  tak'n,  wak'n,  tok*n. 

tn  —  bright'n,  tighten,  whit'n, 

ble  —  able,  Bible,  double. 

pie  —  ample,  triple,  topple. 

brd  —  troubrd,  bubbl'd,  doublU 

drd  — cradrd,saddl'd,  idlU 

mst  —  arm'st,  charm'st. 

1st  —  cairst,  heal'st,  till'st. 

nst  —  canst,  runn'st,  gain'st. 

dst  —  midst,  call'dst,  roll'dst. 

rdst  —  hcard^st,  guard'st,  reward'st. 

ngdst  —  wrong^dst,  throng'dst. 

rmdst  —  arm'dst,  form'dst. 

rndst  —  learn^st,  scorn'dst. 

The  Third  Step  is  the  pronunciation  of  words  of  many  sylla- 
bles. The  object  of  this  step  is  to  distribute  the  articulative  energy 
so  that  all  the  syllables  of  a  long  word  shall  be  brought  out  evenly. 
Frequently  we  apply  so  much  force  to  the  accented  syllable  that 
the  syllables  immediately  preceding  and  following  are  imperfectly 
enunciated.    The  final  syllables  also  frequently  suffer. 

Method  of  practice:  pronounce  each  of  the  following  words 
five  times  in  rapid  succession  and  with  vigorous  force.  It  may  be 
necessary  to  begin  the  pronunciation  at  a  slow  rate  of  utterance, 
and  to  increase  the  rate  as  the  pupil  gains  in  articulative  energy, 
absolutely  antipathy  constitution  multiplication 

accessory  apocrypha  lucubration  articulately 

accurately  affability  colloquially  disinterestedly 

agitated  chronological       indissolubly         congratulatory 

adequately  annihilate  temporarily         circumlocution 

angularly  apostatize  mythological       disingenuousness 


24 


CHOICE  READINGS 


antepenult 

revolution 

institution 

deglutition 

lugubrious 

necessarily 

generally 

abominably 


innumerable 

intolerable 

dishonorable 

collaterally 

apologetic 

dietetically 

apocalyptic 

coagulation 


appropriate 

assimilate 

acquiescence 

momentarily 

ambiguously 

atmospherical 

allegorical 

inexplicable 


ecclesiastically 

authoritatively 

superiority 

incalculable 

indisputable 

immediately 

justificatory 


The  Fourth  Step  is  the  mastery  of  difficult  combinations  in 
sentences.  Rigid  personal  criticism  is  necessary  at  each  stop. 
Difficult  v^^ords  and  combinations  of  vi^ords  should  not  be  passed 
over  or  avoided  because  of  inability  to  master  them.  It  is  much 
better  to  slacken  the  speed  of  utterance  and  gradually  acquire 
the  power  of  conquering  the  difficulties.  Pronounce  the  follow- 
ing sentences,  increasing  the  rate  of  utterance  as  strength  and 
facility  in  articulation  are  required. 

Amos  Ames,  the  amiable  aeronaut,  aided  in  an  aerial  enter- 
prise at  the  age  of  eighty-eight. 

Some  shun  sunshine.     Do  you  shun  sunshine? 

Fine  white  wine  vinegar  with  veal. 

Bring  a  bit  of  buttered  brown  bran  bread. 

Geese  cackle,  cattle  low,  crows  caw,  cocks  crow. 

Eight  gray  geese  in  a  green  field  grazing. 

Six  thick  thistle  sticks. 

Lucy  likes  light  literature. 

A  big  black  bug  bit  a  big  black  bear. 

Peter  Prangle,  the  prickly  prangly  pear  picker,  picked  three 
/)Ccks  of  prickly  prangly  pears  from  the  prickly  prangly  pear  trees 
on  the  pleasant  prairies. 

Theophilus  Thistle,  the  successful  thistle  sifter,  in  sifting  a 
tieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  three  thousand  thistles  through 
the  thick  of  his  thumb;  now  if  Theophilus  Thistle,  the  successful 
thistle  sifter,  in  sifting  a  sieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  three 
thousand  thistles  through  the  thick  of  his  thumb,  see  that  thou, 
in  sifting  a  sieve  full  of  unsifted  thistles,  thrust  not  three  thou- 
sand thistles  through  the  thick  of  thy  thumb.  Success  to  the 
successful  thistle  sifter! 

She  sells  sea-shells.     Shall  Susan  sell  sea-shells? 

What  whim  led  White  Whitney  to  whittle,  whistle,  whisper, 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  DISTINCT  SPEAKER?  25 

and  whimper,  near  the  wharf  where  a  floundering  whale  might 
wheel  and  whirl? 

He  sawed  six,  long,  slim,  sleek,  slender  saplings. 

Swan  swam  over  the  sea.  Swan  swam  back  again.  Well 
uvam,  swan. 

Amidst  the  mists  and  coldest  frosts, 
With  stoutest  wrists  and  loudest  boasts, 
He  thrusts  his  fists  against  the  posts 
And  still  insists  he  sees  the  ghosts. 

The  Fifth  Step  is  reading. 

Narrative,  descriptive,  and  didactic  styles  are  recommended 
for  practice  at  first.  Newspaper  articles,  essays,  conversations, 
and  biographical  sketches  should  be  frequently  read  aloud,  and  at 
sight. 

Pursue  these  directions  with  patience  and  diligence,  and  with- 
out a  question  of  doubt  your  articulation  will  be  improved,  and 
will  finally  become  as  distinct  and  perfect  as  public  speaking  and 
reading  demand. 

A  chart  may  be  made  for  the  consonants  similar  in  size  to 
the  one  suggested  on  page  12  for  the  vowels.  It  should  be  hung 
on  the  wall  of  the  study-room,  and  the  various  exercises  in  articu- 
lation should  be  practiced  frequently  and  persistently. 

OUTLINE    OF    CHART    FOR    THE    CONSONANTAL 

SOUNDS 

First  Step. — Master  consonantal  elements. 

TABLE    OF    CONSONANTAL   SOUNDS 


Lips. 

Lips  and 
Teeth. 

Teeth  and 
Tongtie. 

Tongue  and 
Palate. 

Teeth,  Tongue, 
and  Palate. 

b    as  in  babe 
m    "     *  maim 

I    as  in  fife 
V    "    "  valve 

th     as  in  thin 
th      "    "  thine 

ch  as  in  church 
d    *'    "  did 

r     as  in  rap 
r      "  *'    war 

p      -    "  pipe 
\j    "   •'  woe 
wh  •*   '*  when 

f    «    "  fudge 
k    **    "  cake 
1     *•    "   lull 
n     '*    **  nun 

s      *'  "   cease 
sh    "  "   push 
y     ••  "   yet 
z      "  "   zone 
zh    **  "    a^ur 

ng  •*    "  song 
t     •-    *•  tent 

26  CHOICE  READINGS 

Second  Step. —  Master  final  combinations  of  consonants. 

Id  —  bold,  fold;  Ik  —  milk,  silk;  Ip  —  help,  gulp;  nd  — 

land,  band. 

If  —  elf,  wolf;  Im  —  elm,  helm;  Is  —  falls,   tells;  nk  — 

bank,  dank,  etc. 

Third  Step. —  Master  the  pronunciation  of  words  of  many 

syllables : 

Absolutely,  accessory,  accurately,  agitated,  etc. 

Fourth   Step. —  Master  difficult  combinations  in  sentences. 

Some  shun  sunshine,  etc. 

Fifth  Step. —  Common  reading. 

Students  in  making  this  chart  will  fill  in   all  vacant  spaces   under  the 
several  steps  with  material  for  practice. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL 
SPEAKER? 

Before  we  attempt  to  answer  this  question  it  would  not  be 
irrelevant  to  investigate  certain  charges  of  eccentric  and  unnatural 
speaking  brought  against  the  ministerial  profession,  and  to  enter  a 
protest  against  the  unwise  and  ferocious  methods  of  criticism 
prevalent  in  our  day. 

There  always  has  been  a  certain  piquant  pleasure  in  criticis- 
ing the  clergy.  No  opportunity  has  been  allowed  to  pass  unim- 
proved, and  advice  has  been  offered  ad  nauseam.  If  this  advice, 
in  all  cases,  had  been  discriminating  and  ju^t,  good  results  might 
have  followed;  but  alas!  the  criticism  of  the  elocution  of  the 
pulpit  has  so  frequently  taken  the  form  of  ridicule  or  indis- 
criminate condemnation,  that  nothing  has  come  of  it  save  a 
prejudiced  notion  in  the  public  mind  that  ministers,  as  a  class,  are 
the  poorest  speakers  we  have.  However  general  this  belief  may 
be,  it  is  very  certain  that  many  of  our  best  speakers  are  in  the 
ranks  of  the  ministry,  and  must,  of  necessity,  be  there  as  long  as 
the  present  order  of  things  continues.  The  minister  has  alto- 
gether the  best  field  for  the  cultivation  of  elegant  and  eflEective 
public  address;  the  orderly  audience,  the  church  constructed  with 
special  reference  to  speaking,  the  wide  range  of  topics  to  be  dis- 
cussed, the  important  interests  involved  in  the  discussion,  furnish 
conditions  that  no  other  profession  can  offer.  So  far  then  from 
believing  ministers  to  be  the  poorest  speakers,  we  are  inclined  to 
believe  that  they  are  the  best. 

Whatever  opinion  may  be  entertained  with  reference  to  this 
matter,  it  is  very  evident  that  a  fierce  and  dangerous  spirit  of 
fault-finding  is  prevalent  and  popular  in  our  day.  "We  live  in  an 
age  of  such  large  freedom  that  nobody  hesitates  to  criticise  or 
rather  to  find  fault,  forgetting  that  the  rarest  and  highest  ability 
IS  required  for  useful  and  safe  criticism.  The  true  province  of 
the  critics  is  to  construct  and  build  up,  not  to  destroy  and  pull 
down.  However  beneficent  and  helpful  constructive  criticism 
might  be  to  society,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  modern  criticism 

27 


28  CHOICE  READINGS 

has  become  essentially  destructive.  It  is  popular,  in  our  day,  to 
use  the  knife,  to  cut  deep,  to  parade  the  weakness  of  public  men 
rather  than  to  construct  better  men  out  of  what  we  have.  And, 
although  ministers  are  the  targets  at  which  the  public  especially 
delight  to  aim  their  shafts,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  clergy 
themselves  are  often  as  fierce  and  heartless  in  their  criticism  of 
one  another  as  are  the  outsiders.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  stand 
sponsor  for  any  of  the  eccentricities  or  improprieties  of  pulpit 
address,  nor  do  we  think  it  wise  to  allow  an  indifferent  standard, 
of  excellence  to  be  set  up  and  go  unchallenged ;  we  simply  wish  to 
condemn,  as  dangerous  and  wicked,  the  careless,  jocose,  and  irre- 
sponsible style  of  criticism  that  prevails. 

This  habit  of  fault-finding  has  grown  to  such  an  extent  that 
ministers  expect  it,  and  indeed  frequently  invite  it,  and  often  act 
as  though  they  were  disappointed  if  they  do  not  get  more  than 
they  deserve. 

How  often  do  we  hear  ministers  using  these  inviting  words  — 
"  Now  do  not  spare  me  " — "  Cut  me  to  pieces  '' —  not  knowing  that 
this  is  the  worst  kind  of  criticism.  Is  it  ever  helpful  to  beat  a  man 
to  pieces,  and  leave  him  in  weakness  to  struggle  back  to  his 
former  health  and  strength  ?  Is  it  ever  cheering  or  strengthening 
to  tell  a  man  that  he  is  greatly  at  fault  in  his  reading  and  speak- 
ing, and  that  he  ought  to  desist  from  public  work  until  he  can 
acquire  a  better  form,  and  then  to  leave  him  in  his  discouragement 
to  improve  under  the  gracious  and  good  advice  he  has  received? 

To  all  such  reformers  we  have  but  one  word:  never  criticise 
any  man's  reading  or  speaking  unless  you  can  suggest  a  better 
method,  and  can  outline  a  course  of  training  that  will  lead  to  that 
end.  Keeping  this  principle  in  view,  we  will  endeavor  to  discuss 
our  theme:     "How  can  I  become  a  natural  speaker?" 

An  unpleasant  melody  or  intonation  of  voice  has  given  rise  to 
the  phrase  —  the  "  ministerial  tone."  So  very  few  speakers  use  a 
melody  entirely  free  from  unpleasant  tones,  that  it  would  be  just 
as  proper  to  speak  of  the  actor's  tone,  or  the  lawyer's  tone,  as  to 
speak  of  the  ministerial  tone. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  a  sentence  may  be  written  out  in 
musical  form  as  well  as  a  song  or  any  other  musical  composition^ 
the  chief  difference  being  this :  in  the  melody  of  song  everything  is 
arbitrary;  in  the  melody  of  speech  everything  is  voluntary.  In 
other  words,  when  you  sing  a  song  you  must  sing  the  notes  as 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  29 

they  are  written  on  the  musical  staff;  In  reading  an  essay  you 
make  your  own  music. 

Now  it  must  be  very  evident  that  those  people  who  are  unable 
to  sing,  because  of  their  lack  of  appreciation  of  musical  sound, 
must  be  under  great  disadvantage  in  making  good  music  when 
they  speak.  It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  a  person  should  be 
a  good  musician  or  singer  in  order  to  be  a  good  speaker.  It  is 
only  necessary  that  the  speaker  should  have  such  an  appreciation 
of  musical  sound  that  the  variety  of  intonation  employed  may  be 
pleasing  to  the  ear.  Let  it  not  be  imagined,  however,  that  an 
agreeable  melody  can  be  acquired  by  a  few  weeks*  practice.  It 
may  take  months  and  years,  and  never  be  thoroughly  mastered; 
but  any  Improvement  in  this  direction  Is  a  substantial  gain. 

The  attainment  of  a  pleasing  variety  of  intonation  secures  two 
things  that  are  essential  to  the  successful  public  speaker:  first,  a 
well  modulated  voice,  which  renders  all  speech  agreeable;  second, 
inflection,  which  renders  all  speech  effective  and  intelligent.  A 
careful  and  continuous  study  and  practice  of  the  following  suggea  ^ 
tlons  is  recommended  for  the  improvement  of  the  melody  of  thw 
voice. 

The  First  Step :  Practice  Colloquial  Reading, —  A  number* 
of  colloquial  selections  should  be  secured.  The  following  at'r; 
admirable  specimens  of  colloquial  style: 

A  SIMILAR  CASE 

Jack,  I  hear  you  Ve  gone  and  done  it, — 

Yes,  I  know;  most  fellows  will; 
Went  and  tried  it  once  myself,  sir, 

Though  you  see  I  *m  single  still. 
And  you  met  her  —  did  you  tell  me  — 

Down  at  Newport,  last  July, 
And  resolved  to  ask  the  question 

At  a  soiree?    So  did  I. 

I  suppose  you  left  the  ball-room, 

With  its  music  and  Its  light; 
For  they  say  love's  flame  is  brightest 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


30  CHOICE  READINGS 

Well,  you  walked  along  together, 

Overhead  the  starlit  sky; 
And  I  '11  bet  —  old  man,  confess  it  — 

You  were  frightened.     So  was  I. 

So  you  strolled  along  the  terrace, 

Saw  the  summer  moonlight  pour 
All  its  radiance  on  the  waters. 

As  they  rippled  on  the  shore, 
Till  at  length  you  gathered  courage, 

When  you  saw  that  none  was  nigh  — 
Did  you  draw  her  close  and  tell  her 

That  you  loved  her?     So  did  I. 

Well,  I  need  n't  ask  you  further, 

And  I  'm  sure  I  wish  you  joy. 
Think  I  '11  wander  down  and  see  you 

When  you're  married  —  eh,  my  boy? 
When  the  honeymoon  is  over 

And  you  're  settled  down,  we  '11  try  — 
What?  the  deuce  you  say!     Rejected  — 

You  rejected?    So  was  I. 

—  Anonymous. 

This  selection  and  the  following  one  should  be  read  and 
re-read  until  the  intonations  seem  as  natural  as  though  you  were 
engaged  in  a  conversation  with  an  old  friend. 

OLD    CHUMS 

Is  It  you.  Jack?    Old  boy,  is  it  really  you? 

I  should  n't  have  known  you  but  that  I  was  told 
You  might  be  expected;  —  pray,  how  do  you  do? 

But  what,  under  heavens,  has  made  you  so  old  ? 

Your  hair !  why,  you  've  only  a  little  gray  fuzz ! 

And  your  beard  's  white !  but  that  can  be  beautifully  dyed ; 
And  your  legs  are  n't  but  just  half  as  long  as  they  was; 

And  then  —  stars  and  garters!  your  vest  is  so  wide. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  31 

Is  this  your  hand  ?    Lord,  how  I  envied  you  that 
In  the  time  of  our  courting, —  so  soft,  and  so  small, 

And  now  it  is  callous  inside,  and  so  fat, — 
Well,  you  beat  the  very  old  deuce,  that  is  all. 

Turn  around !  let  me  look  at  you !  is  n't  it  odd 

How  strange  in  a  few  years  a  fellow  's  cbum  grows ! 

Your  eye  is  shrunk  up  like  a  bean  in  a  pod, 

And  what  are  these  lines  branching  out  from  your  nose? 

Your  back  has  gone  up  and  your  shoulders  gone  down, 

And  all  the  old  roses  are  under  the  plough; 
Why,  Jack,  if  we  'd  happened  to  meet  about  town, 

I  would  n't  have  known  you  from  Adam,  I  vow ! 

You  Ve  had  trouble,  have  you  ?    I  'm  sorry ;  but,  John, 

All  trouble  sits  lightly  at  your  time  of  life. 
How's  Billy,  my  namesake?    You  don't  say  he's  gone 

To  the  war,  John,  and  that  you  have  buried  your  wife? 

Poor  Katherine !  so  she  has  left  you  —  ah  me ! 

I  thought  she  would  live  to  be  fifty,  or  more. 
What  is  it  you  tell  me?     She  was  fifty-three! 

0  no,  Jack !  she  was  n't  so  much  by  a  score. 

Well,  there  's  little  Katy, —  was  that  her  name,  John  ? 

She  '11  rule  your  house  one  of  these  days  like  a  queen. 
That  baby!  good  lord!  is  she  married  and  gone? 

With  a  Jack  ten  years  old !  and  a  Katy  fourteen ! 

Then  I  give  it  up !    Why,  you  're  younger  than  I 

By  ten  or  twelve  years,  and  to  think  you  've  come  back 
A  sober  old  greybeard,  just  ready  to  die! 

1  do  n't  understand  how  it  is, —  do  you.  Jack  ? 

I  've  got  all  my  faculties  yet,  sound  and  bright; 

Slight  failure  my  eyes  are  beginning  to  hint; 
But  still,  with  my  spectacles  on,  and  a  light 

*Twixt  them  and  the  paee,  I  can  read  any  print. 


82    ^  CHOICE  READINGS 


My  hearing  is  dull,  and  my  leg  is  more  spare, 

Perhaps,  than  it  was  when  I  beat  you  at  ball ; 
My  breath  gives  out,  too,  if  I  go  up  a  stair, — 

But  nothing  worth  mentioning,  nothing  at  all! 

My  hair  is  just  turning  a  little  you  see. 

And  lately  I  Ve  put  on  a  broader-brimmed  hat 
Than  I  wore  at  your  wedding,  but  you  will  agree, 

Old  fellow,  I  look  all  the  better  for  that. 

I  *m  sometimes  a  little  rheumatic,  't  is  true. 

And  my  nose  is  n't  quite  on  a  straight  line,  they  say  ; 

For  all  that,  I  do  n't  think  I  Ve  changed  much,  do  you  ? 
And  I  do  n't  feel  a  day  older,  Jack  —  not  a  day. 

—  Alice  Gary, 

THE  BRAKEMAN  AT  CHURCH 

On  the  road  once  more,  with  Lebanon  fading  away  in  the 
distance,  the  fat  passenger  drumming  idly  on  the  window-pane, 
the  cross  passenger  sound  asleep,  and  the  tall,  thin  passenger 
reading  "  General  Grant's  Tour  Around  the  World,"  and  won- 
dering why  **  Green's  August  Flower  "  should  be  printed  above 
the  doors  of  "  A  Buddhist  Temple  at  Benares."  To  me  comes  the 
brakeman,  and  seating  himself  on  the  arm  of  the  seat,  says,  "  I 
went  to  church  yesterday." 

"Yes?"  I  said,  with  that  interested  inflection  that  asks  for 
more.    "  And  what  church  did  you  attend  ?  " 

"Which  do  you  guess?"  he  asked. 

"  Some  union  mission  church,"  I  hazarded. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  I  do  n't  like  to  run  on  these  branch  roads  very 
much.  I  do  n't  often  go  to  church,  and  when  I  do,  I  want  to  run 
on  the  main  line,  where  your  run  is  regular,  and  you  go  on 
schedule  time  and  do  n't  have  to  wait  on  connections.  I  do  n't 
like  to  run  on  a  branch.    Good  enough,  but  I  do  n't  like  it." 

"  Episcopal?  "  I  guessed. 

"  Limited  express,"  he  said ;  "  all  palace  cars  and  two  dollars 
extra  for  seat,  fast  time,  and  only  stop  at  big  stations.  Nice  line, 
but  too  exhaustive  for  a  br*»keman.     All  train-men  in  uniform, 


I 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  3& 

conductor's  punch  and  lantern  silver-plated,  and  no  train-boys 
allowed.  Then  the  passengers  are  allowed  to  talk  back  at  the 
conductor,  and  it  makes  them  too  free  and  easy.  No,  I  could  n*t 
stand  the  palace  cars.  Rich  road,  though.  Do  n't  often  hear  of 
a  receiver  being  appointed  for  that  line.  Some  mighty  nice  people 
travel  on  it,  too." 

"  Universalist  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Broad  gauge,"  said  the  brakeman ;  "  does  too  much  compli* 
mentary  business.  Everybody  travels  on  a  pass.  Conductor 
does  n't  get  a  fare  once  in  fifty  miles.  Stops  at  flag-stations,  and 
won't  run  into  anything  but  a  union  depot.  No  smoking  car  on 
the  train.  Train  ordfers  are  rather  vague,  though,  and  the  train- 
men do  n't  get  along  well  with  the  passengers.  No,  I  do  n't  go 
to  the  Universalist,  but  I  know  some  good  men  who  run  on  that 
road." 

"  Presbyterian  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Narrow  gauge,  eh  ?  "  said  the  brakeman ;  "  pretty  track, 
straight  as  a  rule;  tunnel  right  through  a  mountain  rather  than 
go  around  it;  spirit-level  grade;  passengers  have  to  show  their 
tickets  before  they  get  on  the  train.  Mighty  strict  road,  but  the 
cars  are  a  little  narrow;  have  to  sit  one  in  a  seat,  and  no  room 
in  the  aisle  to  dance.  Then  there  is  no  stop-over  tickets  allowed; 
got  to  go  straight  through  to  the  station  you  're  ticketed  for,  or 
you  can't  get  on  at  all.  When  the  car  is  full,  no  extra  coaches; 
cars  built  at  the  shop  to  hold  just  so  many,  and  nobody  else 
allowed  on.  But  you  do  n't  often  hear  of  an  accident  on  that  road. 
It 's  run  right  up  to  the  rules." 

"  Maybe  you  joined  the  Free  Thinkers?  "  said  I. 

"Scrub  road,"  said  the  brakeman;  "dirt  road-bed  and  no 
ballast ;  no  time-card  and  no  train  dispatcher.  All  trains  run  wild, 
and  every  engineer  makes  his  own  time,  just  as  he  pleases.  Smoke 
if  you  want  to;  kind  of  go-as-you-please  road.  Too  many  side- 
tracks, and  every  switch  wide  open  all  the  time,  with  the  switch- 
man sound  asleep  and  the  target  lamp  dead  out.  Get  on  as  you 
please  and  get  off  when  you  want  to.  Do  n't  have  to  show  your 
tickets,  and  the  conductor  is  n't  expected  to  do  anything  but  amuse 
the  passengers.  No,  sir.  I  was  offered  a  pass,  but  I  do  n't  like 
the  line.  I  do  n't  like  to  travel  on  a  road  that  has  no  terminus. 
Do  you  know,  sir,  I  asked  a  division  superintendent  where  that 
road  run  to,  and  he  said  he  hoped  to  die  if  he  knew.  I  asked  him 
if  the  general  superintendent  could  tell  me,  and  he  said  he  did  n't 


34  CHOICE  READINGS 

believe  they  had  a  general  superintendent,  and  if  they  had  he 
did  n't  know  anything  more  about  the  road  than  the  passengers. 
I  asked  him  who  he  reported  to,  and  he  said  '  nobody.'  I  asked  a 
conductor  who  he  got  his  orders  from,  and  he  said  he  did  n't  takt 
orders  from  any  living  man  or  dead  ghost.  And  when  I  asked 
the  engineer  who  he  got  his  orders  from,  he  said  he  'd  like  to  see 
anybody  give  him  orders ;  he  'd  run  the  train  to  suit  himself,  or 
he  'd  run  it  into  the  ditch.  Now  you  see,  sir,  I  'm  a  railroad  man, 
and  I  do  n't  care  to  run  on  a  road  that  has  no  time,  makes  no 
connections,  runs  nowhere,  and  has  no  superintendent.  It  may  be 
all  right,  but  I  've  railroaded  too  long  to  understand  it." 

"  Maybe  you  went  to  the  Congregational  church?" 

"  Popular  road,"  said  the  brakeman ;  '*  an  old  road,  too  —  one 
of  the  very  oldest  in  the  country.  Good  road-bed  and  comfortable 
cars.  Well-managed  road,  too;  directors  don't  interfere  with 
division  superintendents  and  train  orders.  Road  's  mighty  pop- 
ular, but  it 's  pretty  independent,  too.  Yes,  did  n't  one  of  the 
division  superintendents  down  east  discontinue  one  of  the  oldest 
stations  on  this  line  two  or  three  years  ago?  But  it's  a  mighty 
pleasant  road  to  travel  on  —  always  has  such  a  pleasant  class  of 
passengers." 

"  Did  you  try  the  Methodist?  "  I  said. 

"Now  you're  shouting!"  he  said  with  some  enthusiasm. 
"Nice  road,  eh?  Fast  time  and  plenty  of  passengers.  Engines 
carry  a  power  of  steam,  and  do  n't  you  forget  it;  steam-gauge 
shows  a  hundred  and  enough  all  the  time.  Lively  road ;  when  the 
conductor  shouts  '  all  aboard,'  you  can  hear  him  at  the  next  sta- 
tion. Every  train-light  shines  like  a  head-light.  Stop-over  checks 
are  given  on  all  through  tickets;  passenger  can  drop  oS  the  train 
as  often  as  he  likes,  do  the  station  two  or  three  days,  and  hop  on 
the  next  revival  train  that  comes  thundering  along.  Good, 
whole-souled,  companionable  conductors ;  ain't  a  road  in  the  country 
where  the  passengers  feel  more  at  home.  No  passes;  every  pas- 
senger pays  full  traffic  rates  for  his  ticket.  Wesleyanhouse  air- 
breaks  on  all  trains,  too;  pretty  safe  road,  but  I  did  n't  ride  over  it 
yesterday." 

"  Perhaps  you  tried  the  Baptist?  "  I  guessed  once  more. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  the  brakeman;  "she's  a  daisy;  isn't  she? 
River-road ;  beautiful  curves,  sweep  around  anything  to  keep  close 
to  the  river ;  but  it 's  all  steel  rail  and  rock  ballast ;  single  track 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  35 

all  the  way;  and  not  a  side-track  from  the  round-house  to  the 
terminus.  Takes  a  heap  of  water  to  run  ft,  though;  double  tanks 
at  every  station,  and  there  is  n't  an  engine  in  the  shops  that  can 
pull  a  pound  or  run  a  mile  with  less  than  two  gauges.  But  it 
runs  through  a  lovely  country;  those  river-roads  always  do; 
river  on  one  side  and  hills  on  the  other,  and  it 's  a  steady  climb 
up  the  grade  all  the  way  till  the  run  ends  where  the  fountain- 
head  of  the  river  begins.  Yes,  sir ;  I  11  take  the  river-road  every 
time  for  a  lovely  trip ;  sure  connections  and  a  good  time,  and  no 
prairie  dust  blowing  in  at  the  windows.  And  yesterday,  when  the 
conductor  came  around  for  the  tickets  with  a  little  basket-punch, 
I  did  n't  ask  him  to  pass  me,  but  I  paid  my  fare  like  a  little  man 
—  twenty-five  cents  for  an  hour's  run  and  a  little  concert  by  the 
passengers  thrown  in.  I  tell  you,  pilgrim,  you  take  the  river- 
road  when  you  want  — " 

But  just  here  the  long  whistle  from  the  engine  announced  a 
station,  and  the  brakeman  hurried  to  the  door,  shouting: 

"  Zionsville !  the  train  makes  no  stops  between  here  and 
Indianapolis !  "  —  Robert  J.  Burdette, 

Additional  selections  for  practice:  "The  One-Horse  Shay,"' 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes;  "  Her  Letter,"  Bret  Harte. 

The  conversational  character  of  these  selections  will  assist  the 
reader  to  a  natural  and  melodious  use  of  the  voice.  They  will 
induce  him  to  read  as  he  talks,  and  will  help  him  to  acquire  a 
variety  that  is  free  from  false  and  affected  intonations. 

No  instruction  or  advice  is  valuable  just  at  this  point,  save 
that  which  inspires  patient  endeavor,  constantly  directs  the  atten- 
tion of  the  pupil  to  the  melody  of  simple  conversation,  and  stimu- 
lates a  desire  for  perfect  freedom  from  all  that  is  artificial.  After 
a  fair  degree  of  success  is  attained  in  reading  these  selections,  a 
more  difficult  list  of  pieces  should  be  tried  —  tlK)ee  involving  senti- 
mental and  colloquial  qualities. 

The  Second  Step :  Colloquial  Selections  Involving  Sentiment.. 


^36  CHOICE  READINGS 

IN  AN  ATELIER 

I  pray  you,  do  not  turn  your  head ;  and  let  your  hands  He 
folded  —  so. 

It  was  a  dress  like  this,  blood-red,  that  Dante  liked  so,  long  ago. 

You  do  n't  know  Dante?  Never  mind.  He  loved  a  lady  won- 
drous fair  — 

His  model?  Something  of  the  kind.  I  wonder  if  she  had  your 
hair! 

I  wonder  if  she  looked  so  meek,  and  was  not  meek  at  all, —  my 

dear 
I  want  that  side-light  on  your  cheek.     He  loved  her,  it  is  very 

clear. 
And  painted  her,  as  I  paint  you ;  but  rather  bettef  on  the  whole. 
Depress  your  chin,  yes,  that  will  do:  he  was  a  painter  of  the  soul! 

And  painted  portraits,  too,  I  think,  in  the  Inferno  —  rather  good ! 
I  'd  make  some  certain  critics  blink  if  I  'd  his  method  and  his 

mood. 
Her   name    was  —  Jennie,   let   your    glance   rest   there   by   that 

Majolica  tray  — 
Was  Beatrice;  they  met  by  chance  —  they  met  by  chance,   the 

usual  way. 

As  you  and  I  met,  months  ago,  do  you  remember  ?    How  your  feet 
Went  crinkle-crinkle  on  the  snow   adown   the  long   gas-lighted 

street ! 
An  instant  in  the  drug  store's  glare  you  stood  as  in  a  golden 

frame ! 
And  then  I  swore  it  —  then  and  there  —  to  hand  your  sweetness 

down  to  fame. 

They  met,  and  loved,  and  never  wed  —  all  this  was  long  before 

our  time; 
And  though  they  died,  they  are  not  dead  —  such  endless  youth 

gives  'mortal  rhyme! 
Still  walks  the  earth,  with  haughty  mien,  great  Dante,   in  his 

soul's  distress; 
-And  still  the  lovely  Florentine  goes  lovely  in  her  blood-red  dress. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  37 

You  do  not  understand  at  all?    He  was  a  poet;  on  his  page 

He  drew  her;  and  though  kingdoms  fall,  this  lady  lives  from  age- 

to  age: 
A  poet  -—  that  means  painter  too,  for  words  are  colors,  rightly 

laid ; 
And  they  outlast  our  brightest  hue,  for  ochers  crack  and  crimsons 

fade. 

The  poets  —  they  are  lucky  ones !    when  we  are  thrust  upon  the 

shelves. 
Our  works  turn  into  skeletons  almost  as  quickly  as  ourselves ; 
For  our  poor  canvas  peels  at  length,  at  length  is  prized  when  all 

is  bare: 
"  What  grace !  "  the  critics  cry,  "  what  strength !  "  when  neither 

strength  nor  grace  is  there. 

Ah,  Jennie,  I  am  sick  at  heart,  it  is  so  little  one  can  do, 

We  talk  our  jargon  —  live  for  art!     I  'd  much  prefer  to  live  for 

you. 
How  dull  and  lifeless  colors  are:  you  smile,  and  all  my  picture 

lies: 
I  wish  that  I  could  crush  a  star  to  make  a  pigment  for  your  eyes. 

Yes,  child,  I  know  I  *m  out  of  tune ;  the  light  is  bad ;  the  sky  is . 

gray: 
I  *11  work  no  more  this  afternoon,  so  lay  your  royal  robes  away. 
Besides,  you  're  dreamy  —  hand  on  chin  —  I  know  not  what 

not  in  the  vein: 
While  I  would  paint  Anne  Boleyn,  you  sit  there  looking  like 

Elaine. 

Not  like  the  youthful,  radiant  Queen,  unconscious  of  the  coming 

woe, 
But  rather  as  she  might  have  been,  preparing  for  the  headsman's 

blow. 
I  see !  I  Ve  put  you  in  a  miff  —  sitting  bolt  upright,  wrist  on 

wrist. 
How  should   you  look?     Why,   dear  as  if  —  somehow  —  as   if 

you  'd  just  been  kissed. 

—  T.  B.  Aldrich. 


;38  CHOICE  READINGS 

AN  ORDER  FOR  A  PICTURE 

O  good  painter,  tell  me  true, 

Has  your  hand  the  cunning  to  draw 
Shapes  of  things  you  never  saw  ? 

Ay?    Well,  here  is  an  order  for  you. 

Woods  and  cornfields  a  little  brown, — 
The  picture  must  not  be  over-bright. 
Yet  all  in  the  golden  and  gracious  light 

Of  a  cloud,  when  the  summer  sun  is  down. 
Alway  and  alway,  night  and  morn. 
Woods  upon  woods,  with  fields  of  corn 
Lying  between  them,  not  quite  sere, 

And  not  in  the  full,  thick,  leafy  bloom. 

When  the  wind  can  hardly  find  breathing-room 
Under  their  tassels, —  cattle  near, 

Biting  shorter  the  short  green  grass. 

And  a  hedge  of  sumach  and  sassafras. 

With  bluebirds  twittering  all  around  — 

(Ah,  good  painter,  you  can't  paint  sound!) 
These,  and  the  house  where  I  was  born, 

Low  and  little,  and  black  and  old. 

With  children,  many  as  it  can  hold, 

All  at  the  windows  open  wide, 

Heads  and  shoulders  clear  outside, 

And  fair  young  faces  all  ablush: 

Perhaps  you  may  have  seen,  some  day, 
Roses  crowding  the  self-same  way, 

Out  of  a  wilding,  wayside  bush. 

Listen  closer.     When  you  have  done 

With  woods  and  cornfields  and  grazing  herds, 

A  lady,  the  loveliest  ever  the  sun 
Looked  down  upon,  you  must  paint  for  me  ; 
O,  if  I  only  could  make  you  see 

The  clear  blue  eyes,  the  tender  smile, 
The  sovereign  sweetness,  the  gentle  grace, 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  39 

The  woman's  soul,  and  the  angel's  face 

That  are  beaming  on  me  all  the  while !  — 
I  need  not  speak  these  foolish  words; 

Yet  one  word  tells  you  all  I  would  say, — 
She  is  my  mother:  you  will  agree 

That  all  the  rest  may  be  thrown  away. 
Two  little  urchins  at  her  knee 
You  must  paint,  sir:  one  like  me, — 
The  other  with  a  clearer  brow, 

And  the  light  of  his  adventurous  eyes 

Flashing  with  boldest  enterprise: 
At  ten  years  old  he  went  to  sea, — 

God  knoweth  if  he  be  living  now, — 

He  sailed  in  the  good  ship  Commodore, — 
Nobody  ever  crossed  her  track 
To  bring  us  news,  and  she  never  came  back. 

Ah,  't  is  twenty  long  years  and  more 
Since  that  old  ship  went  out  of  the  bay 

With  my  great-hearted  brother  on  her  deck; 

I  watched  him  till  he  shrank  to  a  speck, 
And  his  face  was  toward  me  all  the  way. 
Bright  his  hair  was,  a  golden  brown, 

The  time  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee : 
That  beauteous  head,  if  it  did  go  down. 

Carried  sunshine  into  the  sea! 

Out  in  the  fields  one  summer  night 

We  were  together,  half  afraid 
Of  the  corn-leaves'  rustling,  and  of  the  shade 

Of  the  high  hills,  stretching  so  still  and  far, — 
Loitering  till  after  the  low  little  light 
Of  the  candle  shone  through  the  open  door, 
And  over  the  haystack's  pointed  top. 
All  of  a  tremble,  and  ready  to  drop. 

The  first  half-hour,  the  great  yellow  star 

That  we  with  staring,  ignorant  eyes, 
Had  often  and  often  watched  to  see 

Propped  and  held  in  its  place  in  the  skies 
By  the  fork  of  a  tall,  red  mulberry- tree. 

Which  close  in  the  edge  of  our  flax-field  grew,-— 


40  CHOICE  READINGS 

Dead  at  the  top, —  just  one  branch  full 

Of  leaves,  notched  round,  and  lined  with  wool, 

From  which  it  tenderly  shook  the  dew 
Over  our  heads,  when  we  came  to  play 
In  its  handbreadth  of  shadow,  day  after  day:  — 

Afraid  to  go  home,  sir;  for  one  of  us  bore 
A  nest  full  of  speckled  and  thin-shelled  eggs, — 
The  other  a  bird,  held  fast  by  the  legs 
Not  so  big  as  a  straw  of  wheat: 
The  berries  we  gave  her  she  would  n't  eat. 
But  cried  and  cried,  till  we  held  her  bill, 
So  slim  and  shining,  to  keep  her  still. 

At  last  we  stood  at  our  mother's  knee. 
Do  you  think,  sir,  if  you  try. 

You  can  paint  the  look  of  a  lie? 

If  you  can,  pray  have  the  grace 

To  put  it  solely  in  the  face 
Of  the  urchin  that  is  likest  me: 

I  think  'twas  solely  mine,  indeed: 
But  that 's  no  matter, —  paint  it  so  ; 

The  eyes  of  our  mother —  (take  good  heed)  — 
Looking  not  on  the  nestful  of  eggs. 
Nor  the  fluttering  bird,  held  so  fast  by  the  legs, 
But  straight  through  our  faces  down  to  our  lies, 
^nd  O,  with  such  injured,  reproachful  surprise! 

I  felt  my  heart  bleed  where  that  glance  went,  as  though 

A  sharp  blade  struck  through  it. 

You,  sir,  know, 

That  you  on  the  canvas  are  to  repeat 
'Things  that  are  fairest,  things  most  sweet, — 
Woods  and  cornfields  and  mulberry  tree, — 
^The  mother, —  the  lads,  with  their  bird,  at  her  knee: 

But,  O,  that  look  of  reproachful  woe! 
.High  as  the  heavens  your  name  I  11  shout. 

If  you  paint  me  the  picture,  and  leave  that  out. 

—  Alice  Gary, 


I 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  41 

JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 

Have  you  heard  the  story  the  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg?  —  No?    Ah,  well 

Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns; 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown  — 

The  only  man  who  did  n't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town; 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day. 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July,  sixty-three, — 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

The  flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 

I  might  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 

John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage-door, 

Looking  down  the  village  street, 

Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine. 

He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine. 

And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet; 

Or,  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 

The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 

The  milk  that  fell  in  a  babbling  flood 

Into  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood; 

Or,  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees  -^ 

Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 

But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 

Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 

Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 

Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 

Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine  — 

Quite  old-fashioned,  and  matter-of-fact. 

Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 

That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folks  say. 

He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day. 

And  it  was  terrible.    On  the  right 
Raged  for  hours  the  heavy  fight, 


4^  CHOICE  READINGS 

Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass  — 

Difficult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 

While  on  the  left  —  where  now  the  graves 

Undulate  like  the  living  waves 

That  all  the  day  unceasing  swept 

Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept  — 

Round  shot  plowed  the  upland  glades, 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades; 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air, 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

■Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

.With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 
Erect  and  lonely,  stood  old  John  Burns, 
How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed? 
He  wore  an  ancient,  long  buff  vest, 
Yellow  as  saffron  —  but  his  best; 
And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast 
Was  a  bright  blue  coat  with  a  rolling  collar. 
And  large  gilt  buttons  —  size  of  a  dollar  — 
With  tails  that  country-folk  called  "  swaller.** 
He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 
White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 
Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 
For  forty  years  on  the  village-green, 
Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 
And  went  to  the  *'  quilting  *'  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows,  all  that  day 
Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 
Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away, 
And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 
Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in-» 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  43 

Glanced  as  they  passed  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore, 

And  hailed  him  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire: 

"  How  are  you,  White  Hat?  ''     ''  Put  her  through! '' 

"Your  head's  level!''  and,  "Bully  for  you!" 

Called  him  "  Daddy  " —  and  begged  he  'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 

And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those; 

While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeers  and  scoff. 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off  — 

With  his  long,  brown  rifle  and  bell-crown  hat. 

And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked; 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 

Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand. 

And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 

Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown ; 

Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 

Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair 

The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there. 

And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 

That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 

Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 

That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

Thus  raged  the  battle.    You  know  the  rest: 

How  the  rebels  beaten,  and  backward  pressed, 

Broke  at  the  final  charge  and  ran. 

At  which  John  Burns  —  a  practical  man, 

Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows. 

And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  IS  the  story  of  old  John  Burns; 
This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns: 
In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question  's  whether 
You  '11  show  a  hat  that 's  white,  or  a  feather. 

—  Bret  Harte- 


44  CHOICE  READINGS 

HANNAH  JANE 

She  IS  n't  half  so  handsome  as  when  twenty  years  agone, 
At  her  old  home  in  Piketon,  Parson  Avery  made  us  one : 
The  great  house  crowded  full  of  guests  of  every  degree, 
The  girls  all  envying  Hannah  Jane,  the  boys  all  envying  me. 

Her  fingers  then  were  taper,  and  her  skin  as  white  as  milk, 
Her  brown  hair  —  what  a  mess  it  was!  and  soft  and  fine  as  silk; 
No  wind-moved  willow  by  a  brook  had  ever  such  a  grace. 
The  form  of  Aphrodite,  with  a  pure  Madonna  face. 

She  had  but  meager  schooling ;  her  little  notes  to  me, 
Were  full  of  crooked  pothooks,  and  the  worst  orthography: 
Her  "  dear  "  she  spelled  with  double  e  and  "  kiss  "  with  but  one  s: 
But  when  one  's  crazed  with  passion,  what 's  a  letter  more  or 
less? 

She  blundered  in  her  writing,  and  she  blundered  when  she  spoke, 
And  every  rule  of  syntax  that  old  Murray  made,  she  broke; 
But  she  was  beautiful  and  fresh,  and  I  —  well,  I  was  young; 
Her  form  and  face  overbalanced  all  the  blunders  of  her  tongue. 

I  was  but  little  better.    True,  I  'd  longer  been  at  school ; 
My  tongue  and  pen  were  run,  perhaps,  a  little  more  by  rule; 
But  that  was  all.     The  neighbors  round,  who  both  of  us  well 

knew. 
Said  —  which  I  believed  —  she  was  the  better  of  the  two. 

All 's  changed ;  the  light  of  seventeen  's  no  longer  in  her  eyes ; 
Her  wavy  hair  is  gone  —  that  loss  the  coiffeur's  art  supplies ; 
Her  form  is  thin  and  angular ;  she  slightly  forward  bends ; 
Her  fingers  once  so  shapely,  now  are  stumpy  at  the  ends. 

She  knows  but  very  little,  and  in  little  are  we  one ; 

The  beauty  rare,  that  more  than  hid  that  great  defect,  is  gone. 

My  parvenu  relations  now  deride  my  homely  wife. 

And  pity  me  that  I  am  tied  to  such  a  clod  for  life. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  45 

I  know  there  is  a  difference;  at  reception  and  levee, 
The  brightest,  wittiest,  and  most  famed  of  women  smile  on  me; 
And  everywhere  I  hold  my  place  among  the  greatest  men; 
And  sometimes  sigh,  with  Whittier^s  judge,  "  Alas!  it  might  have 
been." 

iWhen   they  all  crowd   around   me,  stately  dames  and  brilliant 

belles. 
And  yield  to  me  the  homage  that  all  great  success  compels, 
Discussing  art  and  statecraft,  and  literature  as  well. 
From  Homer  down  to  Thackeray,  and  Swedenborg  on  *'  Hell.*' 

I  can^t  forget  that  from  these  streams  my  wife  has  never  quaffed, 
Has  never  with  Ophelia  wept,  nor  with  Jack  Falstaff  laughed; 
Of  authors,  actors,  artists  —  why,  she  hardly  knows  the  names; 
She  slept  while  I  was  speaking  on  the  Alabama  claims. 

I  can^t  forget  —  just  at  this  point  another  form  appears  — 
The  wife  I  wedded  as  she  was  before  my  prosperous  years; 
I  travel  o'er  the  dreary  road  we  traveled  side  by  side. 
And  wonder  what  my  share  would  be,  if  Justice  should  decide. 

She  had  four  hundred  dollars  left  her  from  the  old  estate; 
On  that  we  married,  and,  thus  poorly  armored,  faced  our  fate. 
I  wrestled  with  my  books;  her  task  was  harder  far  than  mine  — 
'T  was  how  to  make  two  hundred  dollars  do  the  work  of  nine. 

At  last  I  was  admitted ;  then  I  had  my  legal  lore, 

An  office  with  a  stove  and  desk,  of  books  perhaps  a  score ; 

She  had  her  beauty  and  her  youth,  and  some  housewifely  skill, 

And  love  for  me,  and  faith  in  me,  and  back  of  that  a  will. 

Ah!  how  she  cried  for  joy  when  my  first  legal  fight  was  won, 
When  our  eclipse  passed  partly  by,  and  we  stood  in  the  sun ! 
The  fee  was  fifty  dollars  —  't  was  the  work  of  half  a  year  — 
First  captive,  lean  and  scraggy,  of  my  legal  bow  and  spear. 

I  well  remember  when  my  coat  (the  only  one  I  had) 
fWfts  seedy  grown  and  threadbare,  and,  in  fact,  most  "  shocking 
bad.'' 


46  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  tailor^s  stern  remark  when  I  a  modest  order  made: 
"  Cash  is  the  basis,  sir,  on  which  we  tailors  do  our  trade." 

Her  winter  cloak  was  in  his  shop  by  noon  that  very  day; 

She  wrought  on  hickory  shirts  at  night  that  tailor's  skill  to  pay ; 

I  got  a  coat  and  wore  it ;  but,  alas,  poor  Hannah  Jane 

Ne'er  went  to  church  or  lecture,  till  warm  weather  came  again. 

Our  second  season  she  refused  a  cloak  of  any  sort. 
That  I  might  have  a  decent  suit  in  which  t'  appear  in  court; 
She  made  her  last  year's  bonnet  do,  that  I  might  have  a  hat;  — 
Talk  of  the  old-time  flame-enveloped  martyrs  after  that ! 

No  negro  ever  worked  so  hard;  a  servant's  pay  to  save. 
She  made  herself  most  willingly  a  household  drudge  and  slave. 
What  wonder  that  she  never  read  a  magazine  or  book. 
Combining  as  she  did  in  one,  nurse,  housemaid,  seamstress,  cook! 

What  wonder  that  the  beauty  fled  that  I  once  so  adored! 
Her  beautiful  complexion  my  fierce  kitchen  fire  devoured;  ^ 

Her  plump,  soft,  rounded  arm,  was  once  too  fair  to  be  concealed ; 
Hard  work  for  me  that  softness  into  sinewy  strength  congealed. 

I  was  her  altar,  and  her  love  the  sacrificial  flame ; 
Ah!  with  what  pure  devotion  she  to  that  altar  came. 
And,  tearful,  flung  thereon  —  alas!     I  did  not  know  it  then  — 
All  that  she  was,  and,  more  than  that,  all  that  she  might  have 
been! 

At  last  I  won  success.    Ah !  then  our  lives  were  wider  parted ; 
I  was  far  up  the  rising  road;  she,  poor  girl,  where  we  started. 
I  had  tried  my  speed  and  mettle,  and  gained  strength  in  every 

race ; 
I  was  far  up  the  heights  of  life  — '■  she  drudging  at  the  base. 

She  made  me  take  each  fall  the  stump ;  she  said  't  was  my  career, 
The  wild  applause  of  listening  crowds  was  music  to  my  ear. 
What  stimulus  had  she  to  cheer  her  dreary  solitude? 
For  me  she  lived  on  gladly,  in  unnatural  widowhood. 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  47 

She  could  n*t  read  my  speech ;  but  when  the  papers  all  agreed 
'T  was  the  best  one  of  the  session,  those  comments  she  could  read ; 
And  with  a  gush  of  pride  thereat,  which  I  had  never  felt. 
She  sent  them  to  me  in  a  note  with  half  the  words  misspelt 

At  twenty-eight  the  State-house;  on  the  Bench  at  thirty-three; 

At  forty  every  gate  in  life  was  opened  wide  to  me. 

I  nursed  my  powers  and  grew,  and  made  my  point  in  life;  but 

she  — 
Bearing  such  pack-horse  weary  loads,  what  could  a  woman  be  ? 

What  could  she  be!    Oh,  shame!    I  blush  to  think  what  she  has 

been  — 
The  most  unselfish  of  all  wives  to  the  selfishest  of  men. 
Yes,  plain  and  homely  now  she  is ;  she  *s  ignorant,  *t  is  true ; 
For  me  she  rubbed  herself  quite  out  —  I  represent  the  two. 

Well,  I  suppose  that  I  might  do  as  other  men  have  done  — 
First  break  her  heart  with  cold  neglect,  then  shove  her  out  alone. 
The  world  would  say  't  was  well,  and  more,  would  give  great 

praise  to  me. 
For  having  borne  with  "  such  a  wife  *'  so  uncomplainingly. 

And  shall  I?    No!    The  contract  *twixt  Hannah,  God,  and  me, 

Was  not  for  one  or  twenty  years,  but  for  eternity. 

No  matter  what  the  world  may  think;  I  know,  down  in  my 

heart. 
That,  if  either,  I  *m  delinquent;  she  has  bravely  done  her  part. 
There  's  another  world  beyond  this ;  and,  on  the  final  day. 
Will  intellect  and  learning  'gainst  such  devotion  weigh? 
When  the  great  one,  made  of  us  two,  is  torn  apart  again, 
I  *11  yield  the  palm,  for  God  is  just,  and  He  knows  Hannah  Jane. 

—  D.  R.  Locke. 

In  these  selections  an  occasional  passage  of  sentiment  occurs 
that  requires  a  change  from  a  conversational  or  staccato  to  an 
effusive  or  flowing  form  of  utterance.  To  preserve  this  smooth 
utterance  and,  at  the  same  time,  secure  perfect  naturalness  in  the 
intonations  of  the  voice,  demands  a  greater  degree  of  skill  than 
the  reading  of  the  purely  colloquial  styles.    The  proximity  of  the 


48  CHOICE  READINGS 

colloquial  passage  to  the  sentimental  will  serve  as  a  guide  and  help 
to  a  natural  melody. 

The  Third  Step:  Common  Reading, —  We  are  now  pre- 
pared to  enter  upon  the  practice  of  narrative,  descriptive,  and 
didactic  styles,  or  what  is  generally  called  common  reading.  Here 
the  difficulties  in  securing  pleasing  variety  are  greatly  increased. 
The  dignified  diction  and  elaborate  structure  of  the  sentence  i 
furnish  opportunities  for  the  display  of  great  taste  and  skill  in  ! 
the  melodious  management  of  the  voice.  Nothing  is  more  to  be 
prized  as  an  achievement  in  elocutionary  work  than  a  skillful  and 
melodious  reading  of  a  piece  of  common  English.  Such  an 
acquirement  so  thoroughly  commends  itself,  because  of  its  use- 
fulness, that  many  people  wonder  why  we  do  not  hear  more  of 
it.  But  like  all  other  good  and  desirable  things  it  is  not  easily 
secured.  It  requires  patient  and  laborious  practice  to  acquire 
perfect  melody  in  the  reading  of  an  essay  or  a  newspaper  article. 

So  difficult  is  it,  that  all  this  preliminary  practice  of  colloquial 
selections  is  needful  as  a  preparatory  training.  I  cannot  suggest 
a  bietter  text-book  for  common  reading  than  the  New  Testament. 

A  few  chapters  are  suggested  for  practice.  The  Sermon  on 
the  Mount,  Matt,  v,  vi,  vii ;  The  Parable  of  the  Pharisee  and  the 
Publican,  Luke  xviiirg;  The  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  Luke 
xv:ii ;  Regeneration,  John  iii;  The  Blind  Man  Restored  to  Sight, 
John  ix;  Duties  Enjoined,  Rom.  xii;  Charity,  ist  Cor.  xiii;  The 
Resurrection,  ist  Cor.  xv;  Faith,  Heb.  xi;  Love,  ist  John  iv. 

Some  teachers  (whose  judgment  I  greatly  respect)  insist  that 
an  elaborate  system  of  rules  for  inflection  and  emphasis  is  the 
surest  way  to  lead  to  a  natural  and  pleasing  variety  of  intonation. 
I  admit  that  success  has  been  secured  by  this  system  of  training,  but 
I  seriously  question  the  propriety  of  beginning  with  rules  before 
the  pupil  has  been  trained  to  a  certain  appreciation  of  musical 
variety.  The  teacher  may  find  an  occasional  pupil  who  will  yield 
to  no  other  treatment  than  the  application  of  fixed  rules;  but 
such  are  very  rare  exceptions.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  current 
melody  of  a  sentence  should  not  be  subjected  to  rules;  for,  if  it 
were,  you  would  absolutely  fix  the  intonations  of  every  person,  and 
thereby  destroy  all  individuality. 

I  much  prefer  that  the  pupil  at  first  should  secure  a  natural 
use  of  his  voice^  without  thought  of  rules.    After  the  ear  has  been 


HOW  CAN  I  BECOME  A  NATURAL  SPEAKER?  49 

trained  to  a  just  appreciation  of  musical  intonations,  it  will  then 
be  time  to  assist  and  strengthen  the  reader  by  fixed  rules  for 
inflection,  cadence,  and  emphasis.  You  will  by  this  method  avoid 
a  peculiar  mechanical  stiffness,  that  frequently  appears  in  those 
who  train  themselves  by  rules  without  any  previously  acquired 
power  to  execute  what  the  rule  requires.  Bear  in  mind  constantly 
this  general  direction  —  read  the  above  chapters  as  though  you 
were  talking  in  the  most  direct  way  to  your  hearers,  and  endeavor 
to  impress  the  truth  in  as  earnest  and  natural  tones  as  you  would 
use  in  uttering  the  same  precepts  to  your  personal  friends. 

The  Fourth  Step:  Oratorical  Expression, —  Oratory  is 
simply  elevated  talk,  and  the  same  intonations  that  are  used  in 
common  reading  or  conversation  should  be  carried  into  this  style 
of  address.  The  increase  of  force,  or  volume  of  voice,  greatly 
adds  to  the  difficulty  of  securing  a  pleasing  variety.  It  is  in  this 
style  of  composition  that  speakers  are  chiefly  found  guilty  of  using 
"  tones  "  or  "  false  notes  "  or  more  properly,  bad  melody.  The 
safest  and  best  advice  we  can  offer  to  all  those  who  have  acquired 
unfortunate  habits  of  intonation  in  their  public  address  is  this 
—  pursue  the  system  of  practice  outlined  in  this  discussion  until 
an  appreciation  of  natural  melody  such  as  is  heard  in  the  ordinary 
conversation  of  good  speakers  is  established  in  your  public  speak- 
ing. A  study  and  practice  of  the  simple  and  direct  form  of 
address  found  in  the  orations  of  Wendell  Phillips  is  recom- 
mended; then  the  more  ornate  and  elaborate  styles  of  Burke  and 
Webster  may  be  attempted. 

The  Fifth  Step:  Grand,  Sublime,  and  Reverential  Read- 
ings,—  These  are  probably  the  most  difficult  styles  in  which 
to  secure  good  melody.  In  none  of  the  foregoing  selections  have 
we  used,  to  any  great  extent,  an  effusive  utterance;  but  here  it 
is  essential  to  the  expression  of  the  sentiment.  The  deep  orotund 
voice,  rendered  with  a  flowing  utterance,  offers  such  opportunities 
for  unpleasant  intonations,  that  very  few  attain  a  perfectly  musi- 
cal modulation.  An  easy  way  out  of  the  difficulty  would  be  to 
drop  the  effusion;  but  if  we  do  this  we  sacrifice  the  sentiment 
which  is  the  very  life  of  the  thought.  The  only  way  is  to  be 
patient  and  thorough  in  the  preliminary  practice,  and  to  rely 
upon  the  cultivated  sense  of  musical  sounds  thus  acquired.     To 


50  CHOICE  READINGS 

be  sure,  a  less  varied  melody  is  required  in  these  styles,  but  the 
need  of  suitable  variety  is  just  as  imperative  here  as  elsewhere-. 
Because  this  style  of  reading  is  sometimes  called  monotone,  do 
not  conclude  that  the  reader  should  be  monotonous.  The  read- 
ing is  made  melodious  and  pleasing  by  a  skillful  use  of  the  vanish 
of  the  tones  in  the  form  of  waves.  The  reading  of  a  large 
portion  of  the  Old  Testament,  of  the  Revelation  in  the  New 
Testament,  the  reading  of  most  hymns  and  of  the  Liturgy  falls 
under  this  division. 

I  have  often  thought  that  many  of  the  bad  tones  used  by 
ministers  in  the  delivery  of  their  sermons  could  be  traced  to  the 
frequent  use  of  the  reverential  style.  The  remedy  for  all  this  is 
to  begin  with  the  simplest  forms  of  reading  and  lead  up  to  the 
most  difficult;  not  to  reverse  the  order. 


EXERCISES    FOR    THE    DEVELOPMENT 
OF   VOCAL   PURITY 

As  the  body  is  the  instrument  used  for  the  production  of 
sound,  it  is  necessary  that  those  parts  or  muscles  of  the  body 
which  are  employed  for  that  purpose  should  be  carefully  strength- 
ened and  developed,  and  made  subject  to  the  constant  control 
of  the  will.  A  physical  basis  must  be  laid  before  the  pupil  can 
acquire  a  voice  suitable  for  public  speaking;  and  therefore  the 
mastery  of  exercises  in  physical  culture  is  an  absolute  prerequisite 
to  the  attainment  of  a  good  voice.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss 
scientifically  the  laws  of  sound,  or  the  anatomy  of  the  organs 
of  speech,  but  to  suggest  a  few  practical  exercises  for  students 
who  wish  to  secure  a  free  and  full  use  of  their  vocal  powers. 

One  of  the  first  and  most  imperative  demands  made  upon 
the  public  speaker  is  that  his  voice  shall  be  pleasing.  This 
involves  the  acquirement  of  the  purest  musical  quality  of  tone 
united  with  perfect  freedom  from  apparent  effort  in  vocalization. 
The  first  step  in  securing  pure  tone  is  to  gain  control  of  the 
breath,  so  that  it  may  flow  from  the  mouth  in  a  perfectly  equable 
stream.  This  control  must  be  certain  and  free,  and  the  whole 
breathing  apparatus  must  be  brought,  by  physical  training,  under 
such  perfect  obedience  to  the  will  of  the  speaker  that  its  action  will 
eventually  become  largely  automatic. 

The  First  Step:  Exercises  in  Physical  Culture  and 
Breathing. 

Poise, —  The  head  and  shoulders  should  be  m  such  relation 
to  poise  that  ear,  shoulder,  hip,  and  instep  shall  fall  in  the  same 
line.  An  easily  balanced  position  of  the  parts  of  the  body  is 
essential  to  free  chest  expansion  and  the  correct  and  forcible  use 
of  throat  and  abdominal  muscles. 

RELAXATION   FOR   ELASTICITY 

Jaw, —  Relax  the  muscles  of  the  face,  beginning  with  ej^elids 
aiid  eyebrows.     Let  go  all  tension  until  the  expression  is  that 

51 


52  CHOICE  READINGS  ^ 

of  a  sleeper,  with  jaws  relaxed  and  mouth  falling  open.  Move 
the  jaw  with  the  fingers  in  all  directions  until  it  is  flexible  in 
joint.  Shake  relaxed  jaws  by  movement  of  head  sideways  and 
up  and  down. 

Throat, —  With  the  jaw  relaxed,  open  the  throat  and  breathe 
through  it  as  in  snoring.  Let  head  drop  forward,  throat  and 
neck  muscles  relaxed.  Practice  the  preceding,  letting  head  fall 
backward,  to  right,  left,  and  in  oblique  directions,  until  its  full 
weight  can  be  felt. 

Tongue, —  Let  the  tongue  lie  flat  in  bottom  of  mouth,  tip 
lightly  touching  lower  teeth;  from  that  position,  without  arch- 
ing it,  thrust  it  straight  forward  and  draw  it  back  as  far  as  pos- 
sible several  times.  Open  the  mouth  wide,  and  move  the  tongue 
in  circular  direction,  following  outline  of  lips  and  stretching  the 
muscles  at  the  base  of  the  tongue. 

Breathing. —  Inhale  normal  breath  slowly,  using  abdominal, 
dorsal,  and  chest  muscles  in  filling  the  lungs  from  the  lower  part 
to  top.  Exhale  slowly  in  reverse  order.  Increase  the  length  of 
inspirations  and  expirations,  until  twenty-five  or  thirty  seconds 
for  each  may  be  easily  reached.  Inhale  slowly  through  the  nostrils 
for  ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  seconds.  Exhale  for  the  same  length 
of  time,  using  the  syllable  hah,  which  may  be  uttered  with  a 
gentle  aspiration.  Repeat  this  exercise  several  times,  and  notice 
particularly  that  the  stream  of  air  escaping  from  the  mouth  is 
delivered  with  a  smooth  and  even  flow. 

The  Second  Step  is  to  vocalize  this  stream  or  column  of 
air.  The  steady  management  of  the  air  column  producing  per- 
fect musical  vibrations,  determines  largely  the  beauty  and  vocal 
purity  of  the  tone.  It  follows  then  that  a  regulated  emission  of 
the  breath  becomes  an  important  factor  in  the  production  of  pure 
tone.  Sound  the  tonics  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  oo,  a.  Inhale  freely,  and 
prolong  each  one  of  these  vowel  sounds  for  ten  or  twenty  seconds. 
This  exercise  should  be  repeated  frequently,  for  it  constitutes 
the  beginning  and  end  of  training  for  vocal  purity. 

All  other  exercises  are,  at  best,  but  slight  variations  of  the 
above.  Bear  in  mind  that  it  is  not  multiplicity  of  exercises  that 
is  desirable,  but  a  few  well-chosen  ones  in  which  the  principles 
of  correct  vocalization  are  applied.  The  ability  to  sound  the 
tonic  a  for  ten  or  twenty  seconds,   and   from   the  initiation  of 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY  53 

the  tone  to  its  close  to  produce  perfect  musical  vibrations,  is  the 
surest  sign  that  the  pupil  is  pursuing  the  most  rational  and  direct 
course  to  secure  vocal  purity.  The  skillful  teacher  may  assist 
in  relaxing  the  muscles  of  the  throat,  and  in  placing  the  tongue 
and  mouth  in  their  proper  positions  to  secure  pure  tone;  but 
after  all  is  said  and  done,  the  instructor  cannot,  by  any  physical 
adjustment  of  the  organs,  do  more  than  assist  the  student  in  his 
efforts  in  vocalization.  The  mechanism  of  the  human  voice  is 
so  delicate,  and  its  adjustments  are  so  varied  and  difficult,  that 
any  clumsy  attempt  to  regulate  it,  as  one  would  tune  a  piano  or 
a  harp,  w^ill  utterly  fail.  It  v^^ill  require  months  and  years  of 
practice  before  the  speaker  gains  free  and  absolute  control  of  the 
delicate  machinery.  Nothing  less  than  untiring  patience  and 
industry,  united  v^ith  skillful  and  careful  advice,  can  master  the 
difficulties.  In  beginning  this  exercise,  all  that  the  student  is 
required  to  know  is  the  difference  between  a  harsh  and  unpleas- 
ant sound  and  a  comparatively  pure  and  musical  tone.  His 
musical  sense,  however  deficient,  can  surely  detect  such  a  differ- 
ence. 

The  Third  Step  is  a  slight  variation  of  the  preceding  exer- 
cise, for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  sound  column  to  the  front 
part  of  the  mouth.  If  the  column  of  sound  is  directed  against 
the  soft  palate  and  the  soft  walls  of  the  air-chamber  above  the 
larynx,  a  dull,  hollow  quality  of  tone  will  be  produced.  This  is 
due  to  the  character  of  the  resonating  surface  against  which  the 
column  is  directed.  For  clearness,  brilliancy,  and  purity  of  tone 
the  column  should  be  directed  against  the  hard  palate,  or  sound- 
ing-board, in  the  roof  of  the  mouth.  Select  a  list  of  words  whose 
initial  consonants  are  made  by  the  lips  and  teeth.  The  conso- 
nantal combination  will  aid  in  bringing  the  voice  forward,  and 
in  locating  the  resonance  in  its  proper  place.  Pronounce  the 
following  words,  prolonging  the  tonic  element  four  or  fiwt  sec- 
onds, constantly  endeavoring  in  your  efforts  to  get  the  tone  more 
pure  and  to  locate  the  resonance  in  the  front  oral  cavity. 

main,      tame,       fame,      pain  —  pay,       bay,  may,  day. 

peel,        meal,       feel,        deal  —  pile,       mile,        file,  tile, 

pa,  fa,  ma,         da    —  pooh,     boo,         moo,  do. 


54  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  Fourth  Step  is  Reading.  Selections  involving  the  senti- 
ments of  serenity,  beauty,  and  love,  are  best  suited  for  exercises 
in  vocal  purity.  The  effusive  form  of  utterance,  and  the  long 
vowel  quantities  required  for  the  proper  expression  of  these  senti- 
ments, will  enable  the  student  to  detect  harshness  or  impurity 
in  the  tones  of  his  voice. 

Singing  or  chanting  exercises  may  be  introduced  here,  but  it  is 
better  to  use  only  a  few  exercises,  inasmuch  as  the  same  vocal 
principle  enunciated  in  the  second  step  will  be  repeated  with  slight 
variations  in  all  these  exercises.  As  soon  as  the  pupil  is  aware 
of  the  impurity  of  the  tones  he  is  using,  and  has  a  clear  notion 
of  how  to  improve  the  quality  of  his  voice  in  the  use  of  a  few 
well-chosen  exercises,  he  should  be  put  to  the  reading  of  selections. 
The  stimulus  of  thought  and  sentiment,  and  the  awakened  powers 
of  appreciation,  will  encourage  him  in  his  work,  and  at  the  same 
time  furnish  as  good  opportunities  for  vocal  practice  as  the  abstr?«t 
exercises. 

EXAMPLES   FOR   PRACTICE 
SONG 

When  stars  are  in  the  quiet  skies, 

Then  most  I  pine  for  thee  ; 
Bend  on  me,  then,  thy  tender  eyes, 

As  stars  look  on  the  sea. 
For  thoughts,  like  waves  that  glide  by  night, 

Are  stillest  when  they  shine; 
Mine  earthly  love  lies  hushed  in  light 

Beneath  the  heaven  of  thine. 

There  is  an  hour  when  angels  keep 

Familiar  watch  o*er  men. 
When  coarser  souls  are  wrapt  in  sleep  — • 

Sweet  spirit,  meet  me  then. 
There  is  an  hour  when  holy  dreams 

Through  slumber  fairest  glide, 
And  in  that  mystic  hour  it  seems 

Thou  shouldst  be  by  my  side. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY  55 

The  thoughts  of  thee  too  sacred  are 

For  daylight's  common  beam; 
I  can  but  know  thee  as  my  star, 

My  angel,  and  my  dream! 
When  stars  are  in  the  silent  skies. 

Then  most  I  pine  for  thee; 
Bend  on  me,  then,  thy  tender  eyes, 

As  stars  look  on  the  sea. 

—  Sir  Edward  Lytton. 

Frequently  test  the  purity  of  the  tone  you  are  asmg  by  pro- 
longing the  vowel  quantity  in  certain  words,  and  then  use  the 
same  pure  quality  in  shortened  form  for  reading  —  thus,  in  the  first 
line  of  the  song  the  words  stars  and  skies  whose  vowels  are  long, 
may  be  so  used;  also  in  the  second  line  the  words  pine  and  thee, 
etc. 

DRIFTING 

My  soul  to-day 

Is  far  away. 
Sailing  the  Vesuvian  Bay; 

My  winged  boat, 

A  bird  afloat. 
Swims  round  the  purple  peaks  remote :  — 

Round  purple  peaks 

It  sails  and  seeks 
Blue  inlets,  and  their  crystal  creeks. 

Where  high  rocks  throw. 

Through  deeps  below, 
A  duplicated  golden  glow. 

Far,  vague  and  dim, 

The  mountains  swim: 
While  on  Vesuvius'  misty  brim, 

With  outstretched  hands, 

The  gray  smoke  stands, 
Overlooking  the  volcanic  lands. 


56  CHOICE  READINGS 

Here  Ischia  smiles 

O'er  liquid  miles; 
And  yonder,  bluest  of  the  isles, 

Calm  Capri  waits, 

Her  sapphire  gates 
Beguiling  to  her  bright  estates. 

I  heed  not  if 

My  rippling  skiff 
Float  swift  or  slow  from  cliff  to  cliff;  — 

With  dreamful  eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Under  the  walls  of  Paradise. 

Under  the  walls 

Where  swells  and  falls 
The  Bay's  deep  breast  at  intervals, 

At  peace  I  lie, 

Blown  softly  by, 
A  cloud  upon  this  liquid  sky. 

The  day,  so  mild. 

Is  Heaven's  own  child, 
With  Earth  and  Ocean  reconciled;  — 

The  airs  I  feel 

Around  me  steal 
Are  murmuring  to  the  murmuring  keel. 

Over  the  rail 

My  hand  I  trail 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  sail, 

A  joy  intense, 

The  cooling  sense. 
Glides  down  my  drowsy  indolence. 

With  dreamful  eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Where  Summer  sings  and  never  dies, — 

O'erveiled  with  vines, 

She  glows  and  shines 
Amone  her  future  oil  and  wines. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY  5? 

Her  children  hid 

The  cliffs  amid, 
Are  gamboling  with  the  gamboling  kid; 

Or  down  the  walls, 

With  tipsy  calls. 
Laugh  on  the  rocks  like  waterfalls. 

The  fisher's  child, 

With  tresses  wild, 
Unto  the  smooth,  bright  sand  beguiled, 

With  glowing  lips 

Sings  as  she  skips, 
Or  gazes  at  the  far-off  ships. 

Yon  deep  bark  goes 

Where  traffic  blows, 
From  lands  of  sun  to  lands  of  snows;  — 

This  happier  one, 

Its  course  is  run 
From  lands  of  snow  to  lands  of  sun. 

Oh,  happy  ship, 

To  rise  and  dip, 
With  the  blue  crystal  at  your  lip ! 

Oh,  happy  crew. 

My  heart  with  you 
Sails,  and  sails,  and  sings  anew! 

No  more,  no  more 

The  worldly  shore 
Upbraids  me  with  its  loud  uproar. 

With  dreamful  eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Under  the  walls  of  Paradise. 

—  Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


58  CHOICE  READINGS 

PASSING   AWAY 

Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  bell 

That  came  so  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear, 
Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell, 

That  he  winds  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear, 
When  the  winds  and  the  waves  lie  together  asleep. 
And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  v/atching  the  deep, 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light. 
And  he  his  notes  as  silvery  quite, 
While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar, 
To  catch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore  ?  ~ 
Hark !  the  notes  on  my  ear  that  play, 
Are  set  to  words :  as  they  float,  they  say, 
"  Passing  away!  passing  away!  " 

But,  no ;  it  was  not  a  f airy*s  shell. 

Blown  on  the  beach,  so  mellow  and  clear: 
Nor  was  it  the  tongue  of  a  silver  bell 

Striking  the  hours  that  fell  on  my  ear, 
As  I  lay  in  my  dream :  yet  was  it  a  chime 
That  told  of  the  flow  of  the  stream  of  Time ; 
For  a  beautiful  clock  from  the  ceiling  hung, 
And  a  plump  little  girl  for  a  pendulum,  swung; 
(As  you  Ve  sometimes  seen,  in  a  little  ring 
That  hangs  in  his  cage,  a  canary  bird  swing;) 
And  she  held  to  her  bosom  a  budding  bouquet, 
And  as  she  enjoyed  it,  she  seemed  to  say, 
"  Passing  away!  passing  away!  " 

Oh,  how  bright  were  the  wheels,  that  told 

Of  the  lapse  of  time  as  they  moved  round  slow! 
And  the  hands,  as  they  swept  o'er  the  dial  of  gold, 

Seemed  to  point  to  the  girl  below. 
And  lo !  she  had  changed ;  —  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Her  bouquet  had  become  a  garland  of  flowers. 
That  she  held  in  her  outstretched  hands,  and  flung 
This  way  and  that,  as  she,  dancing,  swung 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY  59 

In  the  fullness  of  grace  and  womanly  pride, 
That  told  me  she  soon  was  to  be  a  bride; 

Yet  then,  when  expecting  her  happiest  day, 

In  the  same  sweet  voice  I  heard  her  say, 
"  Passing  away!  passing  away!  " 

While  I  gazed  on  that  fair  one's  cheek,  a  shade 

Of  thought,  or  care,  stole  softly  over, 
Like  that  by  a  cloud  in  a  summer's  day  made, 

Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover. 
The  rose  yet  lay  on  her  cheek,  but  its  flush 
Had  something  lost  of  its  brilliant  blush ; 

And  the  light  in  her  eye,  and  the  light  on  the  wheels, 
That  marched  so  calmly  round  above  her, 

Was  a  little  dimmed  —  as  when  evening  steals 
Upon  noon's  hot  face:  —  yet  one  could  n't  but  love  her; 
For  she  looked  like  a  mother  whose  first  babe  lay 
Rocked  on  her  breast,  as  she  swung  all  day ; 
And  she  seemed  in  the  same  silver  tone  to  say, 
"Passing  away!  passing  away!" 

While  yet  I  looked,  what  a  change  there  came ! 

Her  eye  was  quenched  and  her  cheek  was  wan; 
Stooping  and  staffed  was  her  withered  frame. 

Yet  just  as  busily  swung  she  on: 
The  garland  beneath  her  had  fallen  to  dust ; 
The  wheels  above  her  were  eaten  with  rust ; 
The  hands,  that  over  the  dial  swept. 
Grew  crook'd  and  tarnished,  but  on  they  kept; 
And  still  there  came  that  silver  tone 
From  the  shriveled  lips  of  the  toothless  crone, 
(Let  me  never  forget,  to  my  dying  day, 
The  tone  or  the  burden  of  that  lay)  — 
"  Passing  away!  passing  away!  " 

—  John  PierponU 


60  CHOICE  READINGS 

FROM   THE   LOTOS-EATERS 

How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half-dream! 

To  dream  and  dream,  like  yonder  amber  light, 

Which  will  not  leave  the  myrrh-bush  on  the  height ; 
To  hear  each  other's  whispered  speech ; 

Eating  the  Lotos  day  by  day, 
To  watch  the  crisping  ripples  on  the  beach. 

And  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray; 
To  lend  our  hearts  and  spirits  wholly 
To  the  influence  of  mild-minded  melancholy; 
To  muse  and  brood  and  live  again  in  memory, 
With  those  old  faces  of  our  infancy 
Heaped  over  with  a  mound  of  grass, 
Two  handfuls  of  white  dust,  shut  in  an  urn  of  brass! 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 

FROM  ROMEO  AND   JULIET 

Rom.  It  is  my  lady;  O,  it  is  my  love! 
O,  that  she  knew  she  were !  — 
She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing;  what  of  that? 
Her  eye  discourses,  I  will  answer  it. 
I  am  too  bold,  't  is  not  to  me  she  speaks : 
Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head? 
The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those  stars. 
As  daylight  doth  a  lamp;  her  eyes  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright. 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not  night. 

Jul.     Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day : 
It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear; 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate-tree: 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nighting;ale. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  PURITY  61 

Rom.  It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 

No  nightingale:  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east; 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain-tops. 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 

—  William  Shakespeare* 

THE  BROOKSIDE 

I  wandered  by  the  brookside, 

I  wandered  by  the  mill; 
I  could  not  hear  the  brook  flow, — 

The  noisy  wheel  was  still; 
There  was  no  burr  of  grasshopper, 

No  chirp  of  any  bird, 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

I  sat  beneath  the  elm  tree; 

I  watched  the  long,  long  shade, 
And,  as  it  grew  still  longer, 

I  did  not  feel  afraid; 
For  I  listened  for  a  footfall, 

I  listened  for  a  word, — 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

He  came  not, —  no,  he  came  not, — 

The  night  came  on  alone, — 
The  little  stars  sat  one  by  one. 

Each  on  his  golden  throne; 
The  evening  wind  passed  by  my  cheek, 

The  leaves  above  were  stirred, 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

Fast,  silent  tears  were  flowing, 
When  something  stood  behind ; 

A  hand  was  on  my  shoulder, — 
I  knew  its  touch  was  kind ; 


62  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  drew  me  nearer, —  nearer, — 
We  did  not  speak  one  word, 

For  the  beating  of  our  own  hearts 
Was  all  the  sound  we  heard. 

—  Lord  Houghton, 


EXERCISES  FOR  THE  DEVELOPMENT 
OF  VOCAL  ENERGY 

In  the  discussion  of  purity  of  tone,  we  confined  ourselves  to 
selections  that  required  subdued  or  moderate  volumes  of  voice,  for 
two  reasons:  first,  because  we  seldom  use,  in  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  life,  anything  more  than  moderate  force;  second,  because  it  is 
easier  to  secure  purity  of  tone  with  the  moderate  forces  of  voice 
than  with  the  louder  or  more  impassioned.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
necessary  to  cultivate  the  louder  forces  of  voice,  and  though  the 
much  greater  portion  of  our  literature  is  rendered  with  moderate 
volumes,  yet  the  louder  forces  are  needed  for  public  address  and 
for  the  expression  of  the  more  elevated  forms  of  thought. 

The  First  Step  in  securing  vocal  energy  is  the  mastery  of 
those  physical  exercises  that  relate  to  the  development  of  strength 
in  the  action  of  the  diaphragm  and  the  muscular  walls  of  the 
abdomen;  the  development  of  the  muscles  of  the  chest,  and  the 
expansion  of  the  lungs ;  the  development  of  elasticity  in  the  muscles 
of  the  trunk,  and  flexibility  in  the  muscles  of  the  thorax  and  the 
throat. 

PHYSICAL   EXERCISES 

To  develop  upper  chest  muscles. —  Raise  arms  sideways,  shoul- 
ders high,  elbows  straight,  hands  clenched,  knuckles  toward  floor. 
Make  as  many  small  circles  with  arms  from  shoulder  as  possible, 
while  inhaling  one  full  deep  breath  slowly. 

Inhale  full  deep  breath  while  raising  arms  slowly  sideways  to 
meet  overhead.  Keep  hips  back,  head  up,  weight  forward,  and 
elbows  perfectly  straight.  Exhale  while  arms  come  down  slowly 
to  position.  This  exercise  fills  the  lungs  completely,  and  gives  the 
greatest  strength  and  freedom  to  the  respiratory  muscles.  Repeat 
the  same  lying  with  the  back  flat  on  the  floor. 

Abdominal  muscles, —  Inhale  and  hold  breath  while  bending 
at  the  waist  line,  first  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left.  Repeat, 
bending  to  the  front  and  back  at  the  waist.     Lying  flat  on  the 

63 


64  CHOICE  READINGS 

back,  keep  the  heels  together  on  the  floor,  fold  arms  across  chest, 
and  rise  to  sitting  position. 

Use  the  abdominal  muscles  in  the  exercise' of  panting  like  a 
dog,  closing  the  exercise  by  one  quick  expulsion  of  the  remaining 
breath.  Let  the  throat  muscles  be  free.  Whisper  the  following 
commands  with  free,  open  position  of  throat,  and  strong,  quick 
action  of  abdominal  muscles: 

Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Charge  for  the  guns ! 

"  My  bannerman,  advance ! 
I  see,'^  he  cried,  ^*  their  column  shake; 
Now,  gallants!  for  your  ladies'  sake, 
Upon  them  with  the  lance !  '* 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait ! 

Let  the  captains  all  and  each 

Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,  burn  the  vessels  on  the  beach! 

In  the  exercises  for  purity  of  tone,  the  resonance  was  confined 
to  the  cavities  of  the  mouth,  nose,  and  pharynx,  and  hence  it  is 
called  head  tone.  In  the  following  exercises,  the  resonance  will  be 
felt  in  all  the  air-chambers  of  the  body,  especially  in  the  large 
cavity  of  the  chest,  and  this  is  known  by  the  term  chest  tone. 

The  Second  Step  is  to  vocalize  the  vowels  or  numerals  ex- 
pulsively  and  explosively.  An  expulsive  sound  is  a  short  shout, 
having  a  very  appreciable  vanish;  an  explosive  sound  is  a  pistol- 
like report,  having  little  appreciable  vanish. 

EXERCISES  FOR  PRACTICE 

1.  Repeat  the  word  up  five  times  expulsively. 

2.  Repeat  the  word  up  five  times  explosively. 

3.  Repeat  each  one  of  the  vowels  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  and  the  numerals 
up  to  ten,  five  time  expulsively,  and  then  as  often  explosively. 

4.  Repeat  the  vowels  and  numerals  and  the  word  up  expul- 
sively and  explosively  as  many  times  as  you  can  with  one  breath. 
Avoid  all  severe  strain  upon  the  muscles  or  lungs  in  continuing 
the  repetitions. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY    65 

5.  Join  the  word  up  with  the  combinations  pa,  fa,  ma,  da, 
ba,  thus:  up-fo,  up-pe,  up-pi,  up-po,  iip-pu  —  up-fa,  iip-fe,  up-fi, 
up-fo,  up-fu,  etc.  Repeat  these  combinations  expulsively  and  ex- 
plosively. 

6.  Join  the  word  up  with  the  first  ten  numerals,  thus:  up-one, 
lip-two,  up-three,  etc.    Repeat  expulsively  and  explosively. 

7.  Alternate  this  exercise,  first  vowels,  then  numerals. 

8.  Shout  with  sustained  force  or  the  calling  voice  the  vowels 
a,  e,  i,  o,  u.    Prolong  each  vowel  five  or  ten  seconds. 

9.  Shout  with  sustained  force  the  numerals  up  to  ten. 
10.     Read  in  the  calling  voice  the  following  sentences: 

Ho!  Ship  ahoy! 

Katherine,  Queen  of  England,  come  into  the  court! 

Awake,  arise,  or  be  forever  fallen! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State! 

Jove  with  us,  Jove  with  us! 

Foward,  the  Light  Brigade! 

Blow  on !    This  is  the  land  of  liberty ! 

Olea!    for  Castile! 

Charge,  Chester,  charge!    On,  Stanley,  on! 

The  Third  Step  is  to  secure  variety  in  force.  Next  to  indis 
tinctness,  which  must  be  acknowledged  the  cardinal  fault  in  public 
speaking,  comes  the  lack  of  variety  in  force.  Most  speakers,  to  put 
it  in  the  language  of  the  people,  have  a  big  voice  and  a  little  one. 
Very  few  intermediate  volumes  are  cultivated,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  the  speaking  is  all  of  the  same  strength  and  thickness  —  like 
a  rope.  As  well  expect  an  orchestra  to  render  a  great  musical 
composition  without  reading  between  the  lines  and  observing  the 
moderate,  forte,  and  fortissimo  directions,  as  to  expect  a  great 
masterpiece  of  oratory  to  be  successfully  delivered  without  regard 
to  the  lights  and  shades  of  varying  force.  Variety  in  the  speaking 
voice  is  secured:  first,  by  melodious  intonations,  or  using  different 
notes  on  the  musical  scale  in  uttering  the  various  words  of  a  sen- 
tence; second,  by  increasing  or  decreasing  the  volume  of  voice,  as 
the  impassioned  or  the  didactic  portions  of  the  selection  demand. 
The  latter  form  of  variety  is  the  one  most  sadly  neglected,  and  for 
the  cultivation  of  which  we  offer  a  few  simple  and  practical  sug- 
gestions. The  following  diagram  will  give  the  pupil  some  idea  of 
the  wide  range  of  force  that  should  be  cultivated. 


«6  CHOICE  READINGS 

f H •)(• •](••••••){•«••) 

Very  soft  Soft.  Moderate.  Loud.  Very  loud. 

It  is  quite  possible,  by  beginning  v^ith  the  group  of  moderate 
forces  and  increasing  the  volume  until  you  reach  the  loudest,  to 
produce  thirty  different  degrees,  which  can  be  clearly  appreciated 
by  the  ear. 

EXERCISES   FOR  PRACTICE 

Sound  the  vowels,  numerals,  or  single  words,  beginning  with 
the  moderate  volumes,  and  increasing  in  force  until  you  reach  the 
maximum  of  your  power.    Thus: 

1.  Sound  the  vowel  a  or  the  numeral  one,  or  the  word  louder, 
as  many  times  as  you  can,  increasing  in  power  with  each  successive 
effort. 

2.  Pronounce  the  following  sentences  or  phrases  in  the  same 
way.  Begin  with  moderate  force,  and  increase  in  volume  of  voice 
as  you  proceed : 

EXAMPLES 

I  impeach  him! 

The  war  must  go  on. 

The  love  of  liberty. 

The  living  love  of  liberty. 

Independence  now,  and  Independence  forever. 

Our  native  land. 

Our  home,  and  native  land. 

The  student  should  be  careful  not  to  be  over-ambitious  in  the 
use  of  this  exercise.  It  is  best  to  begin  with  five  repetitions  of  each 
phrase  or  sentence,  and  to  increase  the  number  of  repetitions  as 
he  acquires  power  of  voice.  Never  continue  the  exercise  for  more 
than  two  minutes  at  any  one  time.  Practice  frequently,  but  for 
short  periods.  This  caution  is  necessary,  that  the  student  may  avoid 
straining  the  vocal  organs  or  the  lungs. 

3.  Having  mastered  the  previous  exercises,  the  student  is  now 
prepared  to  render  the  climactic  paragraph. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY  67 

I  EXAMPLES  FOR  PRACTICE 

FROM    ORATION    ON    THE    IMPEACHMENT    OF 
WARREN   HASTINGS 

f  Therefore,  it  is  with  confidence  that,  ordered  by  the  Commons 
of  Great  Britain,  I  impeach  Warren  Hastings  of  high  crimes  and 
misdemeanors. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain 
in  Parliament  assembled,  whose  parliamentary  trust  he  has  abused. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain, 
whose  national  character  he  has  dishonored. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  laws, 
rights,  and  liberties  he  has  subverted. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  prop- 
erty he  has  destroyed,  whose  country  he  has  laid  waste  and  desolate. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  human  nature  itself,  which  he 
has  cruelly  outraged,  injured,  and  oppressed,  in  both  sexes.  And  I 
impeach  him  in  the  name  and  by  the  virtue  of  those  eternal  laws 
of  justice,  which  ought  equally  to  pervade  every  age,  condition, 
rank,  and  situation  in  the  world. 

—  Edmund  Burke, 

•FROM  ORATION  ON  WASHINGTON 

But  the  same  impartial  history  will  record  more  than  one 
ineffaceable  stain  upon  his  character,  and  never,  to  the  end  of  time, 
never  on  the  page  of  historian,  poet,  or  philosopher;  never  till  a 
taste  for  true  moral  greatness  is  eaten  out  of  the  hearts  of  men  by 
a  mean  admiration  of  success  and  power ;  never  in  the  exhortations 
of  the  prudent  magistrate  counseling  his  fellow-citizens  for  their 
good;  never  in  the  dark  ages  of  national  fortune,  when  anxious 
patriots  explore  the  annals  of  the  past  for  examples  of  public  virtue ; 
never  in  the  admonition  of  the  parent  forming  the  minds  of  his 
children  by  lessons  of  fireside  wisdom;  never,  O  never,  will  the 
name  of  Napoleon,  nor  of  any  of  the  other  of  the  famous  con- 
querors of  ancient  and  modern  days,  be  placed  upon  a  level  with 
Washington's. 

—  Edward  Everett, 


68  CHOICE  READINGS 

FROM   ORATION    ON   IDOLS 

Nothing  of  this  now;  nothing  but  incessant  eulogy.  But  not 
a  word  of  one  effort  to  lift  the  yoke  of  cruel  or  unequal  legisla- 
tion from  the  neck  of  its  victim ;  not  one  attempt  to  make  the  code 
of  his  country  wiser,  purer,  better ;  not  one  effort  to  bless  his  times 
or  breathe  a  higher  moral  purpose  into  the  community.  Not  one 
blow  struck  for  right  or  for  liberty,  while  the  battle  of  the  giants 
was  going  on  about  him ;  not  one  patriotic  act  to  stir  the  hearts  of 
his  idolaters ;  not  one  public  act  of  any  kind  whatever  about  whose 
merit  friend  or  foe  could  even  quarrel,  unless  when  he  scouted  our 
^reat  charter  as  a  glittering  generality,  or  jeered  at  the  philan- 
thropy which  tried  to  practice  the  sermon  on  the  mount. 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 

FROM   ORATION  ON  LAFAYETTE 

And  what  was  it,  fellow-citizens,  which  gave  to  our  Lafayette 
his  spotless  fame?  The  love  of  liberty.  What  has  consecrated  his 
memory  in  the  hearts  of  good  men?  The  love  of  liberty.  What 
nerved  his  youthful  arm  with  strength,  and  inspired  him,  in  the 
morning  of  his  days,  with  sagacity  and  counsel?  The  living  love 
of  liberty.  To  what  did  he  sacrifice  power,  and  rank,  and  country, 
and  freedom  itself  ?  To  the  horror  of  licentiousness, —  to  the 
sanctity  of  plighted  faith, —  to  the  love  of  liberty  protected  by  law. 
Thus  the  great  principle  of  your  Revolutionary  fathers,  and  of  your 
Pilgrim  sires,  was  the  rule  of  his  life  —  the  love  of  liberty  protected 
by  law. 

—  Edward  Everett. 

THE  CURSE  OF  MARINO  FALIERO 

Ye  elements !  in  which  to  be  resolved 
I  hasten,  let  my  voice  be  as  a  spirit 
L^pon  you !  —  Ye  blue  waves !  which  bore  my  banner. 
Ye  winds !  which  fluttered  o*er  as  if  ye  loved  it, 
And  filled  my  swelling  sails,  as  they  were  wafted 
To  many  a  triumph !    Thou,  my  native  earth. 
Which  I  have  bled  for!  and  thou  foreign  earth, 
Which  drank  this  willing  blood  from  many  a  wound! 
Ye  stones,  in  which  my  gore  will  not  sink,  but 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY    69 

Reek  up  to  heaven !    Ye  skies,  which  will  receive  it ! 

Thou  sun!  which  shinest  on  these  things,  and  Thou! 

Who  kindlest  and  who  quenchest  suns !  —  attest ! 

I  am  not  innocent,  but  are  these  guiltless? 

I  perish,  but  not  unavenged ;  far  ages 

Float  up  from  the  abyss  of  time  to  be. 

And  show  these  eyes,  before  they  close,  the  doom 

Of  this  proud  city;  and  I  leave  my  curse 

On  her  and  hers  forever. 

—  Lord  Byron. 

Be  careful  to  economize  the  voice  so  as  to  reserve  sufficient 
force  for  the  closing  sentence  of  the  period.  Gradually  increase 
the  volume  as  the  thought  and  language  become  more  intense  and 
fervid. 

SHORT  DAILY  DRILL  TO  SECURE  VOCAL  ENERGY 

First  step  —  two  minutes  in  deep  breathing. 

Second  step  —  two  minutes  in  deep  reading. 

Third  step  —  two  minutes  in  shouting. 

Fourth  step  —  two  minutes  in  oratorical  speaking. 

This  drill  requires  but  ten  minutes  of  time,  and  should  be 
repeated  three  times  a  day  by  those  who  desire  to  cultivate  a  voice 
for  public  speaking.  The  time  given,  or  which  should  be  given,  by 
every  student  to  physical  exercise  exceeds  the  time  required  for 
this  drill,  and  as  speaking  is  one  of  the  very  best  kinds  of  bodily 
exercise,  this  drill  may  be  made  to  serve  as  a  physical,  as  well  as 
a  vocal  exercise. 

The  First  Step  is  two  minutes  in  deep  breathing.  The  object 
is  to  get  into  the  habit  of  filling  all  the  cells  of  the  lungs  with  air, 
People,  as  a  rule,  breathe  superficially,  using  the  air-cells  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  lungs,  and  seldom  making  use  of  the  cells  in  th^ 
lower  part.  Exercises  in  deep  breathing,  covering  a  considerably 
period  of  time,  so  accustom  the  lungs  to  full  inspiration,  that  they 
in  time  adapt  themselves  to  the  new  condition  of  things,  and  be^ 
come  practically  automatic  in  their  action.  This  result  is  of  great 
practical  value  to  the  speaker,  as  it  insures  a  sufficient  supply  of 
breath  for  all  the  requirements  of  long  clauses  and  sentences,  with- 
out taxing  the  mind  in  the  operation.  In  short,  it  becomes  a  fixed 
habit  of  the  lungs  to  keep  themselves  well  filled. 


70  CHOICE  READINGS 

BREATHING   EXERCISE 

Inhale  slowly  for  ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  seconds;  exhale  for 
the  same  length  of  time.  If  thirty  seconds  of  time  are  used  for 
inhalation,  it  will  be  a  quite  sure  test  that  the  lungs  are  being  well 
filled.  An  equal  amount  of  time  for  exhalation  will  give  the  stu- 
dent excellent  practice  in  the  management  of  the  breath. 

The  Second  Step  is  two  minutes  in  deep  reading.  The  object 
of  this  step  is  to  get  easy  control  of  the  lower  notes  of  the  scale, 
and  thereby  secure  body  or  fullness  of  voice  by  amplitude  of  reso- 
nance in  the  large  cavity  of  the  chest. 

EXAMPLES  FOR  PRACTICE 
FROM    CHILDE    HAROLD 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll  1 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain, 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — -his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 

A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own. 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan. 

Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time. 
Calm  or  convulsed  -7-  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving ;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  — 
The  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

—  Lord  Byron. 
FROM   THE  BURIAL  OF  MOSES 

O,  lonely  tomb  in  Moab's  land, 

O,  dark  Beth-peor's  hill. 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours. 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY    71 

God  hath  His  mysteries  of  Grace  — 

Ways  that  we  t:annot  tell  ; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  secret  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. 

—  Mrs,  Cecil  Frances  Alexander^ 

FROM  HYMN  TO  MONT  BLANC 

Thou,  too,  hoar  Mount!  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 

Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard. 

Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene, 

Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast  — 

Thou,  too,  again,  stupendous^  Mountain  1  thou 

That  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 

In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 

Slow  traveling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 

Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 

To  rise  before  me  —  Rise,  O  ever  rise ! 

Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  from  the  earth ! 

Thou  kingly  Spirit  throned  among  the  hills, 

Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven. 

Great  Hierarch!  tell  thou  the  silent  sky. 

And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 

Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 

—  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge, 

FROM  ADDRESS  TO  THE  SUN 

O  thou  that  rollest  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my  fathers! 
Whence  are  thy  beams,  O  Sun!  thy  everlasting  light! 

—  Ossian. 

FROM  HYMN  TO  THE  NIGHT 

Peace!  Peace!  Orestes-like  I  breathe  this  prayer! 

Descend  with  broad-winged  flight. 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the  most  fair. 

The  best-beloved  Night! 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


72  CHOICE  READINGS 


FROM  THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP 

The  ocean  old, 

Centuries  old, 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled, 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 
His  beating  heaft  is  not  at  rest; 

And  far  and  wide, 

With  ceaseless  flow, 

His  beard  of  snow 
Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 

The  Third  Step  is  two  minutes  in  shouting.  The  object  of 
this  step  is  to  secure  the  maximum  of  power  in  vibration  and  reso- 
nance. 


EXAMPLES   FOR   PRACTICE 
FROM  THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State! 
Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 
Humanity,  with  all  its  fears, 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
What  workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 
In  what  a  forge,  and  what  a  heat, 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock; 
*T  is  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock ; 
'T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail. 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale! 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 
In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY    72 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee : 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee, —  are  all  with  thee ! 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

The  Fourth  Step  is  four  minutes  in  oratorical  speaking.  As 
the  chief  aim  in  all  this  training  for  vocal  energy  has  been  to  pre- 
pare students  for  the  exacting  demands  of  public  speaking,  we 
select,  as  our  last  exercise  in  this  drill,  the  oration.  (See  intro- 
ductory remarks  to  the  chapter  ''  Oratorical  Styles,"  page  294.) 

EXAMPLES    FOR   PRACTICE 

FROM  THE  ORATION  INCENTIVES  TO  DUTY 

Go  forth  into  the  many  mansions  of  the  house  of  life :  scholars ! 
store  them  with  learning;  jurists!  build  them  with  justice;  artists! 
adorn  them  with  beauty^;  philanthropists!  let  them  resound  with 
love.  Be  servants  of  truth,  each  in  his  vocation;  doers  of  the 
word  and  not  hearers  only.  Be  sincere,  pure  in  heart,  earnest, 
enthusiastic.  A  virtuous  enthusiasm  is  always  self-forgetful  and 
noble.  It  is  the  only  inspiration  now  vouchsafed  to  man.  Like 
Pickering,  blend  humanity  with  learning.  Like  Story,  ascend 
above  the  Present,  in  place  and  time.  Like  Allston,  regard  fame 
only  as  the  eternal  shadow  of  excellence.  Like  Channing,  bend  in 
adoration  before  the  right.  Cultivate  alike  the  wisdom  of  expe- 
rience and  the  wisdom  of  hope.  Mindful  of  the  Future,  do  not 
neglect  the  Past :  awed  by  the  majesty  of  Antiquity,  turn  not  with 
indifference  from  the  Future.  True  wisdom  looks  to  the  ages 
before  us,  as  well  as  behind  us.  Like  the  Janus  of  the  Capitol, 
one  front  thoughtfully  regards  the  Past,  rich  with  experience,  with 
memories,  with  the  priceless  traditions  of  virtue;  the  other  is 
earnestly  directed  to  the  All  Hail  Hereafter,  richer  still  with  its 
transcendent  hopes  and  unfulfilled  prophecies. 

We  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  age,  which  is  preparing  to 
recognize  new  influences.  The  ancient  divinities  of  Violence  and 
Wrong  are  retreating  to  their  kindred  darkness. 


CHOICE  READINGS 

There  's  a  fount  about  to  stream, 
There  's  a  light  about  to  beam, 
There  's  a  warmth  about  to  glow, 
There  's  a  flower  about  to  blow ; 
There'  s  a  midnight  blackness  changing 

Into  gray; 
Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way. 

Aid  the  dawning,  tongue  and  pen; 

Aid  It,  hopes  of  honest  men ; 

Aid  it,  paper;  aid  it,  type; 

Aid  it,  for  the  hour  is  ripe, 

And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken,     ^ 

Into  play; 
Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action. 

Clear  the  way. 

The  age  of  Chivalry  has  gone.  An  age  of  Humanity  has  come* 
The  Horse,  whose  importance,  more  than  human,  gave  the  name 
to  that  early  period  of  gallantry  and  war,  now  yields  his  foremost 
place  to  Man.  In  serving  him,  in  promoting  his  elevation,  in  con- 
tributing to  his  welfare,  in  doing  him  good,  there  are  fields  of 
bloodless  triumph,  nobler  far  than  any  in  which  the  bravest  knight 
ever  conquered.  Here  are  spaces  of  labor,  wide  as  the  world,  lofty 
as  heaven.  Let  me  say,  then,  in  the  benlson  once  bestowed  upon 
the  youthful  knight, —  Scholars!  jurists!  artists!  philanthropists! 
heroes  of  a  Christian  age,  companions  of  a  celestial  knighthood, 
"  Go  forth,  be  brave,  loyal,  and  successful !  " 

And  may  It  be  our  office  to-day  to  light  a  fresh  beacon-fire  on 
the  venerable  walls  of  Harvard,  sacred  to  Truth,  to  Christ,  and 
the  Church, —  to  Truth  Immortal,  to  Christ  the  Comforter,  to  the 
Holy  Church  Universal.  Let  the  flame  spread  from  steeple  to 
steeple,  from  hill  to  hill,  from  island  to  island,  from  continent  to 
continent,  till  the  long  lineage  of  fires  shall  illumine  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth ;  animating  them  to  the  holy  contests  of  Knowledge, 
Justice,  Beauty,  Love. 

—  Charles  Sumner, 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY         75 

ADDRESS  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  GETTYSBURG 
CEMETERY 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth  upon 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated  to 
the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal.  Now  we  are  en- 
gaged in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any 
nation,  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We  are 
met  on  a  great  battlefield  of  that  war.  We  are  met  to  dedicate  a 
portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place  of  those  who  here  gave  their 
lives  that  that  nation  might  live. 

It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this.  But 
in  a  larger  sense  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  can- 
not hallow  this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who 
struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  power  to  add  or 
detract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long  remember,  what  we 
say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here. 

It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  un- 
finished work  they  have  thus  far  so  nobly  carried  on.  It  is  rather 
for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us, 
that  from  these  honored  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  the 
cause  for  which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion;  that 
we  here  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  ditd  in  vain, 
that  the  nation  shall,  under  God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom, 
and  that  the  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the 
people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

—  Abraham  Lincoln, 

SOUTH  CAROLINA  AND  MASSACHUSETTS 

[From  a  speech  in  defence  of  the  Union  and  the  Constitution,  delivered  in  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States,  January  26,  1830.J 

The  eulogium  pronounced  by  the  honorable  gentleman  on  the 
character  of  the  State  of  South  Carolina,  for  her  Revolutionary 
and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty  concurrence.  I  shall  not 
acknowledge  that  the  honorable  member  goes  before  me  in  regard 
for  whatever  of  distinguished  talent  or  distinguished  character 
South  Carolina  has  produced.  I  claim  part  of  the  honor;  I  par- 
take in  the  pride  of  her  great  names.  I  claim  them  for  country- 
men, one  and  all, —  the  Laurenses,  the  Rutledges,  the  Pinckneys, 
the   Sumters,   the  Marions, —  Americans  all,   whose  fame   is  no 


76  CHOICE  READINGS 

more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  State  lines,  than  their  talents  and 
patriotism  were  capable  of  being  circumscribed  within  the  same 
narrow  limits. 

In  their  day  and  generation,  they  served  and  honored  the 
country,  and  the  whole  country ;  and  their  renown  is  of  the  treas- 
ures of  the  whole  country.  Him  whose  honored  name  the  gentle- 
man himself  bears, —  does  he  esteem  me  less  capable  of  gratitude 
for  his  patriotism,  or  sympathy  for  his  sufFerings,  than  if  his  eyes 
had  first  opened  upon  the  light  of  Massachusetts,  instead  of  South 
Carolina?  Sir,  does  he  suppose  it  in  his  power  to  exhibit  a  Car- 
olina name  so  bright  as  to  produce  envy  in  my  bosom?  No,  sir; 
increased  gratification  and  delight,  rather.  I  thank  God,  that,  if 
I  am  gifted  with  little  of  the  spirit  which  is  able  to  raise  mortals 
to  the  skies,  I  have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that  other  spirit  which 
would  drag  angels  down. 

When  I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place  here  in  the  Senate,  or 
elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit  because  it  happens  to  spring 
up  beyond  the  limits  of  my  own  State  or  neighborhood;  when  I 
refuse,  for  any  such  cause,  or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due  to 
American  talent,  to  elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere  devotion  to 
liberty  and  the  country;  or,  if  I  see  an  uncommon  endowment  of 
heaven, —  if  I  see  extraordinary  capacity  and  virtue  in  any  son  of 
the  South,  and  if,  moved  by  local  prejudice  or  gangrened  by  State 
jealousy,  I  get  up  here  to  abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair  from  his  just 
character  and  just  fame, —  may  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of 
my  mouth! 

Sir,  let  me  recur  to  pleasing  recollections;  let  me  indulge  in 
refreshing  remembrances  of  the  past;  let  me  remind  you  that,  in 
early  times,  no  States  cherished  greater  harmony,  both  of  principle 
and  feeling,  than  Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina.  Would  to 
God  that  harmony  might  again  return !  Shoulder  to  shoulder  they 
went  through  the  Revolution;  hand  in  hand  they  stood  round  the 
administration  of  Washington,  and  felt  his  own  great  arm  lean 
on  them  for  support.  Unkind  feeling,  if  it  exists,  alienation  and 
distrust,  are  the  growth,  unnatural  to  such  soils,  of  false  principles 
since  sown.  They  are  weeds,  the  seeds  of  which  that  same  great 
arm  never  scattered. 

Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Massa- 
chusetts; she  needs  none.  There  she  is.  Behold  her,  and  judjje 
for  yourselves.    There  is  her  history ;  the  world  knows  It  by  liPSTt. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  VOCAL  ENERGY    77 

The  past,  at  least,  is  secure.  There  Is  Boston,  and  Concord,  and 
Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill;  and  there  they  will  remain  forever. 
The  bones  of  her  sons,  fallen  in  the  great  struggle  for  Independ- 
ence, now  lie  mingled  with  the  soil  of  every  State,  from  New 
England  to  Georgia;  and  there  they  will  lie  forever. 

And,  sir,  where  American  Liberty  raised  its  first  voice,  and 
where  its  youth  was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there  it  still  lives,  in 
the  strength  of  its  manhood,  and  full  of  its  original  spirit.  If 
discord  and  disunion  shall  wound  it;  if  party  strife  and  blind 
ambition  shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it;  if  folly  and  madness,  if  un- 
easiness under  salutary  and  necessary  restraint,  shall  succeed  in 
separating  it  from  that  Union  by  which  alone  its  existence  is  made 
sure, —  it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by  the  side  of  that  cradle  in  which 
its  infancy  was  rocked;  it  will  stretch  forth  its  arm,  with  whatever 
of  vigor  it  may  still  retain,  over  the  friends  who  gather  round 
it,  and  it  will  fall  at  last,  if  fall  it  must,  amid  the  proudest  monu- 
ments of  its  own  glory,  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin. 

—  Daniel  Webster. 

FROM    ORATION    ON   TOUSSAINT   UOUVERTURE 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take  it 
from  the  lips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich  enough  to 
paint  the  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Were  I  to  tell 
you  the  story  of  Washington,  I  should  take  it  from  your  hearts, — 
you,  who  think  no  marble  white  enough  on  which  to  carve  the 
name  of  the  Father  of  his  country.  But  I  am  to  tell  you  the  story 
of  a  negro,  Tousslant  L'Ouverture,  who  has  left  hardly  one  writ- 
ten line.  I  am  to  glean  it  from  the  reluctant  testimony  of  his 
enemies,  men  who  despised  him  because  he  was  a  negro  and  a 
slave,  hated  him  because  he  had  beaten  them  In  battle. 

Cromwell  manufactured  his  own  army.  Napoleon,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-seven,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  best  troops  Europe 
ever  saw.  Cromwell  never  saw  an  army  till  he  was  forty;  this 
man  never  saw  a  soldier  till  he  was  fifty.  Cromwell  manufactured 
his  own  army  —  out  of  what?  Englishmen, —  the  best  blood  in 
Europe.  Out  of  the  middle  class  of  Englishmen, —  the  best  blood 
of  the  island.  And  with  it  he  conquered  what?  Englishmen, — 
their  equals.  This  man  manufactured  his  army  out  of  what  ?  Out 
of  what  you  call  the  despicable  race  of  negroes,  debased,  demor- 


78  CHOICE  READINGS 

alized  by  two  hundred  years  of  slavery,  one  hundred  thousand  of 
them  imported  into  the  island  within  four  years,  unable  to  speak 
a  dialect  intelligible  even  to  each  other.  Yet  out  of  this  mixed, 
and,  as  you  say,  despicable  mass,  he  forged  a  thunderbolt  and 
hurled  it  at  what?  At  the  proudest  blood  in  Europe,  the  Span- 
iard, and  sent  him  home  conquered;  at  the  most  warlike  blood  in 
Europe,  the  French,  and  put  them  under  his  feet;  at  the  pluckiest 
blood  in  Europe,  the  English,  and  they  skulked  home  to  Jamaica. 
Now,  if  Cromwell  was  a  general,  at  least  this  man  was  a  soldier. 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 


THE  ELEVATED  CONVERSATIONAL 
VOICE 

It  frequently  happens  that  a  speaker  is  put  at  a  large  disad- 
vantage in  being  compelled  to  speak  in  a  large  auditorium  on  a 
purely  didactic  subject.  The  nature  of  the  theme  requires  that 
the  speaker  should  talk.  In  fact,  the  great  majority  of  addresses, 
sermons,  arguments,  etc.,  in  their  inception,  and  well  on  to  the 
first  third  of  their  contents,  are  largely  didactic,  and  must  be 
delivered  with  a  conversational  voice,  or  at  least  with  conversa- 
tional intonations  and  inflections.  If  an  attempt  be  made  to 
employ  an  impassioned  utterance,  suitable  to  the  expression  of  the 
loftiest  patriotism,  for  the  conveyance  of  purely  mechanical  or 
scientific  information,  it  will  prove  such  a  ridiculous  misfit  that  its 
repetition  will  be  improbable.  If  your  theme  is  unemotional,  you 
must  be  content  to  use  the  conversational  voice,  even  if  the  people 
in  the  back  seats  are  unable  to  hear  your  words.  If,  then,  a 
large  share  of  public  speaking  is  upon  subjects  that  appeal  to  the 
understanding,  and  not  to  the  emotions,  and  in  consequence  must 
be  delivered  in  the  conversational  voice,  it  follows  that  any  system 
of  practice  that  will  strengthen  or  increase  the  body  of  this  voice, 
so  that  the  speaker  can  be  easily  heard  in  large  audience  rooms, 
must  be  of  vital  importance.  The  result  desired  is  not  a  distinct 
quality  of  voice  like  the  conversational  or  the  orotund,  but  rather 
a  blend  of  these  two  qualities,  like  the  blending  of  the  flute  and 
the  reed  tones  of  an  orchestra  or  organ.  The  elevated  conversa- 
tional voice,  then,  is  a  blending  of  the  head  and  chest  resonance. 
That  this  can  be  done,  and  still  preserve  the  essential  characteristics 
of  the  conversational  quality  is  true,  because  the  conversational 
quality  predominates  in  the  blend,  while  the  orotund  quality  is 
simply  used  to  give  greater  fullness  and  body  to  the  predominant 
quality. 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  ACQUIREMENT  OF  THE 
ELEVATED  CONVERSATIONAL  VOICE 

A  full  and  free  use  of  orotund  quality  should  be  acquired  so 
that  the  student  can  produce  the  resonant  chest  tones  as  easily  as 

79 


80  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  lighter  head  tones.  Then,  selecting  those  passages  in  addresses 
or  orations  that  are  conversational  or  didactic,  he  should  aim  to 
deliver  them  as  If  he  were  conversing  vv^Ith  a  large  audience,  rather 
than  with  a  few  friends.  The  effort  to  make  his  voice  carry  to 
the  distant  portions  of  the  auditorium  will  call  Into  use  occa- 
wonally  the  orotund  quality  to  give  fullness  and  carrying  power  to 
the  voice,  while  the  character  of  the  thought  he  Is  expressing  will 
keep  him  steadily  in  a  conversational  relation  to  his  audience. 

EXAMPLES  FOR  PRACTICE 
CRIME  ITS  OWN  DETECTER 

Against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  as  an  Individual,  I  cannot 
have  the  sh'ghtest  prejudice;  I  would  not  do  him  the  smallest 
injury  or  injustice.  But  1  do  not  affect  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
discovery  and  the  punishment  of  this  deep  guilt.  I  cheerfully 
share  in  the  opprobrium,  how  much  soever  it  may  be,  which  is 
cast  on  those  who  feel  and  manifest  an  anxious  concern,  that  all 
who  had  a  part  in  planning,  or  a  hand  in  executing,  this  deed  of 
midnight  assassination,  may  be  brought  to  answer  for  their  enor- 
mous crime  at  the  bar  of  public  justice. 

Gentlemen,  this  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  In  some  re- 
spects it  has  hardly  a  precedent  anywhere  —  certainly  none  in  our 
New  England  history.  This  bloody  drama  exhibited  no  suddenly 
excited,  ungovernable  rage.  The  actors  in  it  were  not  surprised 
by  any  lion-like  temptation  springing  upon  their  virtue,  and  over- 
coming it  before  resistance  could  begin.  Nor  did  they  do  the 
deed  to  glut  savage  vengeance,  or  satiate  long-settled  and  deadly 
hate.  It  was  a  cool,  calculating,  money-making  murder.  It  was 
all  "  hire  and  salary,  not  revenge."  It  was  the  weighing  of  money 
against  life;  the  counting  out  of  so  many  pieces  of  silver  against 
to  many  ounces  of  blood. 

—  Daniel  Webster. 

FROM  ORATION  ON  THE  CENTENNIAL  OF  THE 
BIRTH  OF  O^CONNELL 

L>  I  think  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  never  since  God 
made  Demosthenes  has  He  made  a  man  better  fitted  for  a  great 
work  than  O'Connell. 


THE  ELEVATED  CONVERSATIONAL  VOICE  81 

You  may  say  that  I  am  partial  to  my  hero ;  but  John  Randolph 
of  Roanoke,  who  hated  an  Irishman  almost  as  much  as  he  did  a 
Yankee,  when  he  got  to  London  and  heard  O'Connell,  the  old 
slaveholder  threw  up  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  **  This  is  the  man, 
those  are  the  lips,  the  most  eloquent  that  speak  English  in  my 
day !  "  and  I  think  he  was  right. 

^ „„Webster  could  address  a  bench  of  judges;  Everett  could  charm 

a  college;  Choate  could  delude  a  jury;  Clay  could  magnetize  a 
senate,  and  Tom  Corwin  could  hold  the  mob  in  his  right  hand; 
but  no  one  of  these  men  could  do  m.ore  than  this  one  thing.  The 
wonder  about  O^Connell  was  that  he  could  out-talk  Corwin,  he 
could  charm  a  college  better  than  Everett,  and  leave  Henry  Clay 
himself  far  behind  in  magnetizing  a  senate. 

It  has  been  my  privilege  to  hear  all  the  great  orators  of  Amer- 
ica who  have  become  singularly  famed  about  the  world's  circum- 
ference. I  know  what  was  the  majesty  of  Webster;  I  know  what 
it  was  to  melt  under  the  magnetism  of  Henry  Clay;  I  have  seen 
eloquence  in  the  iron  logic  of  Calhoun ;  but  all  three  of  these  men 
never  surpassed  and  no  one  of  them  ever  equaled  the  great  Irish- 
man. I  have  hitherto  been  speaking  of  his  ability  and  success,  I 
will  now  consider  his  character. 

To  show  you  that  he  never  took  a  leaf  from  our  American 
gospel  of  compromise,  that  he  never  filed  his  tongue  to  silence  on 
one  truth  fancying  so  to  help  another,  let  me  compare  him  to 
Kossuth,  whose  only  merits  were  his  eloquence  and  his  patriotism. 
When  Kossuth  was  in  Faneuil  Hall,  he  exclaimed,  "  Here  is  a 
flag  without  a  stain,  a  nation  without  a  crime!  "  We  abolitionists 
appealed  to  him,  *'  O,  eloquent  son  of  the  Magyar,  come  to  break 
chains,  have  you  no  word,  no  pulse-beat  for  four  millions  of 
negroes  bending  under  a  yoke  ten  times  heavier  than  that  of 
Hungary?"  He  exclaimed,  "I  would  forget  anybody,  I  would 
praise  anything,  to  help  Hungary!"  O'Connell  never  said  any- 
thing like  that. 

When  I  was  in  Naples  I  asked  Sir  Thoinris  Fowell  Buxtoc^ 
"Is  Daniel  O'Connell  an  honest  man?"  "As  honest  a  man  as 
ever  breathed,"  said  he,  and  then  he  told  me  the  following  story: 
"When,  in  1830,  O'Connell  first  entered  Parliament,  the  anti- 
slavery  cause  was  so  weak  that  it  had  only  Lushington  and  myself 
to  speak  for  it,  and  we  agreed  that  when  he  spoke  I  should  cheer 
him  up,  and  when  I  spoke  he  should  cheer  me,  and  these  were 


^ 


82  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  only  cheers  we  ever  got.  O'Connell  came  with  one  Irish 
member  to  support  him.  A  large  party  of  members  (I  think 
Buxton  said  twenty-seven)  whom  we  called  the  West  India  inter- 
est, the  Bristol  party,  the  slave  party,  went  to  him,  saying, 
'O'Connell,  at  last  you  are  in  the  House  with  one  helper  —  if 
you  will  never  go  down  to  Freemason's  Hall  with  Buxton  and 
Brougham,  here  are  twenty-seven  votes  for  you  on  every  Irish  ques- 
tion. If  you  work  with  those  abolitionists,  count  us  always 
against  you.'  j| 

"  It  was  a  terrible  temptation.  How  many  a  so-called  states^ 
man  would  have  yielded !  O'Connell  said,  *  Gentlemen,  God 
knows  I  speak  for  the  saddest  people  the  sun  sees;  but  may  my 
right  hand  forget  its  cunning  and  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof 
of  my  mouth,  if  to  help  Ireland  —  even  Ireland  —  I  forget  the 
negro  one  single  hour.' 

"  From  that  day,"  said  Buxton,  "  Lushington  and  I  never  went 
into  the  lobby  that  O'Connell  did  not  follow  us." 

And  then  besides  his  irreproachable  character,  he  had  what 
is  half  the  power  of  a  popular  orator,  he  had  a  majestic  presence. 
In  youth  he  had  the  brow  of  a  Jupiter,  and  the  stature  of  Apollo. 
A  little  O'Confiell  would  have  been  no  O'Connell  at  all.  Sydney 
Smith  says  of  Lord  John  Russell's  five  feet,  when  he  went  down 
to  Yorkshire  after  the  Reform  Bill  had  passed,  the  stalwart 
hunters  of  Yorkshire  exclaimed,  "  What,  that  little  shrimp,  he 
carry  the  Reform  Bill!  "  "  No,  no,"  said  Smith,  "  he  was  a  large 
man,  but  the  labors  of  the  bill  shrunk  him."  You  remember  the 
story  that  Russell  Lowell  tells  of  Webster  when  we  in  Massa- 
chusetts were  about  to  break  up  the  Whig  party.  Webster  came 
home  to  Faneuil  Hall  to  protest,  and  four  thousand  Whigs  came 
out  to  meet  him.  He  lifted  up  his  majestic  presence  before  that 
sea  of  human  faces,  his  brow  charged  with  thunder,  and  said, 
"Gentlemen,  I  am  a  Whig;  a  Massachusetts  Whig;  a  Revolu- 
tionary Whig;  a  Constitutional  Whig;  a  Faneuil  Hall  Whig;  and 
if  you  break  up  the  Whig  party,  where  am  /  to  go?"  "And," 
says  Lowell,  "we  all  held  our  breath,  thinking  where  he  could 
ga"  "  But,"  says  Lowell,  "  if  he  had  been  five  feet  three,  we 
should  have  said,  confound  you,  who  do  you  suppose  cares  where 
you  go?"  Well,  O'Connell  had  all  that,  and  then  he  had  what 
Webster  never  had,  and  what  Clay  had,  the  magnetism  and  grace 
that  melt  a  million  souls  into  his. 


THE  ELEVATED  CONVERSATIONAL  VOICE    83 

^-When  I  saw  him  he  was  sixty-five,  lithe  as  a  boy.  His  every 
attitude  was  beauty,  his  every  gesture  grace.  W-hy;  Macready  or 
Booth  never  equaled  him. 

^  It  would  have  been  a  pleasure  even  to  look  at  him  if  he  had 
not  spoken  at  all,  and  all  you  thought  of  was  a  grey-hound.  And 
then  he  had,  what  so  few  American  speakers  have,  a  voice  that 
sounded  the  gamut.  I  heard  him  once  in  Exeter  Hall  say, 
"  Americans,  I  send  my  voice  careering  like  the  thunderstorm 
across  the  Atlantic,  to  tell  South  Carolina  that  God's  thunder- 
bolts are  hot,  and  to  remind  the  negro  that  the  dawn  of  his 
redemption  is  drawing  near ;  "  and  I  seemed  to  hear  his  voice 
reverberating  and  re-echoing  back  to  London  from  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

— -^  And  then,  with  the  slightest  possible  flavor  of  an  Irish  brogue, 
he  would  tell  a  story  that  would  make  all  Exeter  Hall  laugh, 
and  the  next  moment  there  were  tears  in  his  voice,  like  an  old 
song,  and  Rvc  thousand  men  would  be  in  tears.  And  all  the 
while  no  effort  —  he  seemed  only  breathing. 

"As  effortless  as  woodland  nooks 
Send  violets  up  and  paint  them  blue." 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 

DESCRIPTION   OF  WEBSTER'S   SPEECH   IN   REPLY 
TO  HAYNE 

It  was  Tuesday,  January  the  26th,  1830, —  a  day  to  be  here- 
after forever  memorable  in  Senatorial  annals,  that  the  Senate 
resumed  the  consideration  of  Foote's  resolution. 

There  never  was  before,  in  the  city,  an  occasion  of  so  much 
excitement.  Multitudes  of  strangers  had  for  two  or  three  days 
previous  been  rushing  into  the  city,  and  the  hotels  overflowed. 
As  early  as  nine  o'clock  of  this  morning,  crowds  poured  into  the 
Capitol  in  hot  haste;  at  twelve  o'clock,  the  hour  of  meeting,  the 
Senate  chamber  —  its  galleries,  floor,  and  even  lobbies  —  was  filled 
to  its  utmost  capacity.  The  very  stairways  were  dark  with  men, 
who  clung  to  one  another  like  bees  in  a  swarm.  The  House  of 
Representatives  was  early  deserted,  an  adjournment  could  hardly 
have  made  it  emptier. 

Seldom,  if  ever,  has  speaker  in  this  or  any  other  country  had 
more  powerful  incentives  to  exertion.     A  subject,  the  determma- 


84  CHOICE  READINGS 

tion  of  which  involved  the  most  important  interests;  even  the 
duration  of  the  Republic.  Competitors  unequaled  in  reputation, 
ability,  or  position;  a  name  to  make  still  more  glorious  or  lose 
iorever;  and  an  audience  comprising  not  only  persons  of  this  coun- 
try, most  eminent  in  intellectual  greatness,  but  representatives  of 
other  nations  where  the  art  of  eloquence  had  flourished  for  ages. 
J II  the  soldier  seeks  in  opportunity  was  here. 

Mr.  Webster  perceived  and  felt  equal  to  the  destinies  of  the 
moment.  The  very  greatness  of  the  hazard  exhilarated  him.  His 
spirits  rose  with  the  occasion.  He  awaited  the  time  of  onset  with 
JSL  stern,  impatient  joy.  A  confidence  in  his  own  resources  spring- 
ing from  no  vain  estimate  of  his  power,  but  the  legitimate  off- 
spring of  previous  severe  mental  discipline,  sustained  and  excited 
him.  He  had  gauged  his  opponent,  his  subject,  and  himself.  He 
never  rose  on  an  ordinary  occasion  to  address  an  ordinary  audience 
more  self-possessed.  There  was  no  tremulousness  in  his  voice  nor 
manner;  nothing  hurried,  nothing  simulated.  The  calmness  of 
superior  strength  was  visible  everywhere;  in  countenance,  voice, 
and  bearing. 

Mr.  Webster  rose  and  addressed  the  Senate.  His  exordium 
is  known  by  heart  everywhere:  "Mr.  President,  when  the 
mariner  has  been  tossed,  for  many  days  in  thick  weather  and  on 
an  unknown  sea,  he  naturally  avails  himself  of  the  first  pause  in 
the  storm,  the  earliest  glance  of  the  sun,  to  take  his  latitude  and 
ascertain  how  far  the  elements  have  driven  him  from  his  true 
course.  Let  us  imitate  this  prudence,  and,  before  we  float  farther 
on  the  waves  of  this  debate,  refer  to  the  point  from  which  we 
departed,  that  we  may,  at  least,  be  able  to  conjecture  where  wcji 
now  are.  I  ask  for  the  reading  of  the  resolution  before  the" 
Senate." 

There  wanted  no  more  to  enchain  the  attention.  There  was  a 
spontaneous,  though  silent,  expression  of  eager  approbation,  as 
the  orator  concluded  these  opening  remarks,  and  while  the  clerk 
read  the  resolution  many  attempted  the  impossibility  of  getting 
nearer  the  speaker.  Every  head  was  inclined  toward  him,  every 
€ar  turned  in  the  direction  of  his  voice,  and  that  deep  sudden, 
mysterious  silence  followed,  which  always  attends  fullness  of 
emotion.  From  the  sea  of  upturned  faces  before  him,  the  orator 
beheld  his  thoughts  reflected  as  from  a  mirror.  The  varying 
countenance,  the  suffused  eye,  the  earnest  smile,  the  ever  attentive 


THE  ELEVATED  CONVERSATIONAL  VOICE    85 

look,  assured  him  of  his  audience's  entire  sympathy.  If  among 
his  hearers  there  were  those  who  affected  at  first  an  indifference 
to  his  glowing  thoughts  and  fervent  words,  the  difficult  mask  was 
soon  laid  aside,  and  profound,  undisguised,  devoted  attention  fol- 
lowed. Those  who  had  doubted  Mr.  Webster's  ability  to  cope 
with  and  overcome  his  opponents  were  fully  satisfied  of  their  error 
before  he  had  proceeded  far  in  his  speech.  Their  fears  soon  took 
another  direction.  When  they  heard  his  sentences  of  powerful 
thought,  towering  in  accumulative  grandeur,  one  above  the  other, 
as  if  the  orator  strove.  Titan-like,  to  reach  the  very  Heavens 
themselves ;  they  were  giddy  with  an  apprehension  that  he  would 
break  down  in  his  flight ;  they  dared  not  believe  that  genius,  learn- 
ing, and  intellectual  endowment,  however  uncommon,  that  was 
simply  mortal,  could  sustain  itself  long  in  a  career  seemingly  sa 
perilous;  they  feared  an  Icarian  fall.  What  New  England  heart 
was  there  but  throbbed  with  vehement,  tumultuous,  irrepressible 
emotions  as  he  dwelt  upon  New  England  struggles  and  New 
England  triumphs  during  the  war  of  the  Revolution? 

There  was  scarcely  a  dry  eye  in  the  Senate;  all  hearts  were 
overcome;  grave  judges  and  men  grown  old  in  dignified  life  turned 
aside  their  heads  to  conceal  the  evidences  of  their  emotion.  In 
one  corner  of  the  gallery  was  clustered  a  group  of  Massachusetts 
men ;  they  had  hung  from  the  first  moment  upon  the  words  of  the 
speaker,  with  feelings  variously  but  always  warmly  excited,  deep- 
ening in  intensity  as  he  proceeded.  At  first,  while  the  orator  was 
going  through  his  exordium,  they  held  their  breath  and  hid  their 
faces,  mindful  of  the  savage  attack  upon  him  and  New  England, 
and  the  fearful  odds  against  him,  her  champion:  —  as  he  went 
deeper  in  to  his  speech  they  felt  easier;  when  he  turned  Hayne's 
flank  on  Banquo's  ghost  they  breathed  freer  and  deeper.  But  now 
as  he  alluded  to  Massachusetts,  their  feelings  were  strained  to 
their  highest  tension,  and  when  the  orator,  concluding  this 
encomium  of  the  land  of  his  birth,  turned,  unintentionally,  or 
otherwise,  his  burning  eye  full  upon  them,  they  shed  tears  like 
girls.  The  exulting  rush  of  feeling  with  which  he  went  through 
the  peroration  threw  a  glow  over  his  countenance,  like  inspira- 
tion—  eye,  brow,  each  feature,  every  line  of  his  face  seemed 
touched  as  with  a  celestial  fire.  The  swell  and  roll  of  his  voice 
struck  upon  the  ears  of  the  spell-bound  audience,  in  deep  and 
melodious  cadence,  as  waves  upon  the  shore  of  the  far-resoundmg 


86  CHOICE  READINGS 

sea.  The  Miltonic  grandeur  of  his  words  was  the  fit  expression 
of  his  thought,  and  raised  his  hearers  up  to  his  theme.  His  voice, 
exerted  to  its  utmost  power,  penetrated  every  recess  and  corner  of 
the  Senate  —  penetrated  even  the  ante-rooms  and  stairways,  as 
he  pronounced  in  the  deepest  tones  of  pathos  these  words  of  solemn 
significance : 

*'  When  my  eyes  turn  to  behold  for  the  last  time  the  sun  in 
heaven,  may  they  not  see  him  shining  on  the  broken  and  dis- 
honored fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Union ;  on  States  dissevered, 
discordant,  belligerent;  on  a  land  rent  with  civil  feuds,  or 
drenched,  it  may  be,  in  fraternal  blood.  Let  their  last  feeble  and 
lingering  glance  rather  behold  the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  Repub- 
lic, now  known  and  honored  throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high 
advanced;  its  arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  all  their  original 
luster ;  not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted ;  not  a  single  star  obscured ; 
bearing  for  its  motto  no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as  *  What 
is  all  this  worth  ?  *  nor  those  other  words  of  delusion  and  folly,  of 
Liberty  first,  and  Union  afterwards,  but  everywhere,  spread  all 
over  in  characters  of  living  light,  and  blazing  on  all  its  ample 
folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and  over  the  land,  and  in  every 
n^'ind  under  the  whole  heavens,  that  other  sentiment  dear  to  every 
American  heart, —  Liberty  and  Union, —  now  and  forever, —  one 
and  inseparable." 

The  speech  was  over,  but  the  tones  of  the  orator  still  lingered 
upon  the  ear,  and  the  audience,  unconscious  of  the  close,  remained 
in  their  positions.  The  agitated  countenance,  the  heaving  breast, 
the  suffused  eye,  attested  the  continued  influence  of  the  spell 
upon  them.  Hands  that  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  had 
sought  each  other  still  remained  closed  in  an  unconscious  grasp. 
Eye  still  turned  to  eye,  to  receive  and  repay  mutual  sympathy, 
and  cvcrywliere  around  seemed  forgetfulness  of  all  but  the  orator's 
presence  and  words. 

—  Charles  W.  March. 

The  last  two  selections,  in  the  main,  are  good  illustrations  of 
dcvated  conversational  address.  A  few  passages  requiring  the 
fullest  orotund  quality  are  retained  to  preserve  the  symmetry  and 
completeness  of  the  selections. 


PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIONS  ON  EMPHA- 
SIS, INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE 

General  treatises  and  lectures  on  elocution  are  of  no  greM 
value  to  anybody.  They  may  entertain  popular  audiences,  and 
excite  interest  in  good  reading  and  speaking;  but  they  do  not,  as 
a  rule,  touch  upon  the  difficulties  that  perplex  public  speakers,  nor 
do  they  offer  specific  directions  for  the  attainment  of  desirable 
results.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  danger  in  following  implicitly 
a  highly-elaborated  system.  The  enthusiastic  student  of  elocution- 
ary science  may  so  expand  his  theories  as  to  invade  clearly  the 
domain  of  individual  taste,  w^here  no  ipse  dixit  should  be  tolerated. 
Knowledge  with  discretion  is  needed  that  the  pretension  of 
Ignorance  and  the  folly  of  empiricism  may  be  avoided.  These 
cautions  are  called  forth  by  the  difficulties  that  surround  the  sub- 
ject under  discussion.  It  is  one  that  requires  all  the  knowledge 
and  skill  of  the  experienced  teacher,  who  appreciates  the  limita- 
tions of  elocutionary  science. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss,  at  great  length,  the  topics  of 
emphasis,  inflection,  and  cadence,  but  simply  to  make  a  few  prac- 
tical suggestions,  as  we  have  previously  intimated. 

EMPHASIS 

Correct  emphasis  in  reading  and  speaking  cannot  be  too  highly 
tommended.  It  demonstrates,  at  once,  the  intelligence  of  the 
speaker,  and  gives  certainty  of  meaning  to  the  thought  expressed. 
It  would  be  a  questionable  use  of  time  to  endeavor,  by  any  set  of 
rules,  to  indicate  to  students  the  emphatic  words  of  a  sentence. 
In  every  sentence  there  are  one  or  more  words  upon  which  the 
meaning  of  the  sentence  turns.  If  the  student  has  not  sufficient 
intelligence  to  discover  these  words,  it  is  very  evident  that  he 
should  continue  his  preparatory  education.  But  when  the  mean- 
ing of  the  author  is  clearly  apprehended,  and  the  important  words 
are  made  to  stand  out  by  the  application  of  emphasis,  then  the 
significance  of  this  agent  of  expression  is  seen  and  felt.     It  fre- 

87 


88  CHOICE  READINGS 

quendy  happens  that  two  speakers  of  equal  intelligence  and  skill 
will  emphasize  a  sentence  or  a  verse  from  the  Bible  diiferently. 
This  is  not  to  be  discouraged.  It  is  rather  to  be  encouraged,  for 
truth  is  many-sided,  and  in  this  way  we  may  see  it  from  different 
intellectual  standpoints.  The  main  thing  for  the  student,  how- 
ever, is  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the  text,  and  then  to 
emphasize  those  words  that  will  set  forth  with  certainty  the 
thought  he  wishes  to  express.  Important  as  is  the  suggestion  in 
the  last  sentence,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  there  is  more  prac- 
tical difficulty  in  getting  students  to  apply  emphasis  correctly,  than 
in  getting  them  to  think  the  sentence  clearly.  This  is  due,  in 
large  measure,  to  two  causes:  first,  lack  of  knowledge;  second, 
complicated  elocutionary  requirements.  How,  then,  is  the  appli- 
cation of  emphasis  retarded  by  lack  of  knowledge?  In  that  stu- 
dents are  ignorant  of  the  vocal  instrumentalities  by  which  words 
are  emphasized.  The  vocal  agencies  used  for  emphasis  are:  first, 
slide;  second,  pause;  third,  pitch;  fourth,  force;  fifth,  time;  sixth, 
quality. 

First. —  The  emphasis  of  the  slide  is  a  downward  or  an  up- 
ward stroke  of  the  voice,  passing  through  the  interval  of  a  third, 
fifth,  or  octave  on  the  musical  scale,  the  length  of  the  slide  being 
determined  by  the  intensity  of  the  thought  or  emotion. 

Second. —  The  emphasis  of  pause  is  a  sudden  stop  in  speech, 
thereby  exciting  attention  and  giving  weight  or  emphasis  to  the 
word,  momentarily  withheld. 

Third. —  The  emphasis  of  pitch  is  a  sudden  change  from  the 
general  pitch  to  a  much  higher  or  lower  pitch,  thereby  arresting 
the  attention,  and  giving  significance  to  the  words  thus  uttered. 

Fourth. —  The  emphasis  of  force  is  the  utterance  of  certain 
words  with  greater  loudness,  thereby  calling  attention  to  their 
importance. 

Fifth. —  The  emphasis  of  time  is  the  retardation  of  the  gen- 
eral rate  of  utterance,  thereby  calling  attention  to  the  words 
drawn  out  or  retarded. 

Sixth. —  The  emphasis  of  quality  is  the  change  from  a  com- 
paratively smooth  and  pleasant  quality  of  the  voice  to  a  harsh  or 
aspirated  quality.  The  abrupt  change  makes  the  word  thus  rough- 
ened or  aspirated  distinctively  emphatic. 

These  are  the  chief  instrumentalities  used  to  give  significance 


EMPHASIS,  INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE      89 

to  the  utterance  of  words,  and  the  effective  use  of  them  should 
be  more  frequently  taught  and  illustrated. 

The  second  cause  interfering  with  the  application  of  emphasis, 
IS  complicated  elocutionary  requirements.  It  has  always  been  a 
source  of  regret  that  certain  writers  on  elocution  have  insisted 
that  several  vocal  elements  must  enter  Into  every  effort  In  emphasis. 
To  require  a  student  to  combine  three  or  four  of  the  different 
kinds  of  emphasis  previously  enumerated  in  every  attempt  to 
designate  an  important  word,  is  as  unnecessary  as  It  is  unwar- 
ranted, and  must  result  either  In  making  the  student  tired,  or  in 
producing  a  combination  or  blend  of  vocal  elements  that  nobody 
wants  to  hear.  It  is  not  denied  that  several  of  these  forms  of 
emphasis  frequently  combine  to  produce  an  emphatic  result;  but 
one  of  the  forms  so  predominates  in  the  vocal  effect,  that  the 
others  require  no  very  serious  consideration.  If  we  give  attention 
to  the  leading  form  we  employ,  and  make  that  the  chief  vocal  agent 
of  emphasis,  we  greatly  simplify  the  requirements,  and  release 
the  student  from  a  system  too  elaborate  for  practical  use.  It  Is  not 
improbable  that  this  combination  plan  of  emphasis  has  so  weak- 
ened our  interest  in  the  study  of  any  one  kind,  that  we  have 
become  Ignorant  of  the  powers  that  lie  hidden  In  the  emphasis  of 
the  slide  and  the  pause. 

INFLECTION,  OR  THE  EMPHASIS  OF  THE  SLIDE 

Inflection,  or  slide.  Is  an  uninterrupted  upward  or  downward 
stroke  of  the  voice  on  the  musical  scale.  The  emphasis  of  the 
slide  Is  the  most  Important  form  because  It  is  the  most  frequently 
used.  In  all  oral  communications  in  the  everyday  affairs  of  life, 
as  well  as  In  all  common  reading,  this  Is  the  form  of  emphasis 
usr4  to  designate  the  words  that  give  definiteness  and  certainty 
to  our  thought.  In  unimpassioned  speech,  or  In  common  reading, 
the  slide  is  three  notes  in  length,  and  Is  called  the  slide  of  the 
third.  In  elevated  or  impassioned  styles,  the  length  of  the  slide 
is  five  or  eight  notes,  called  respectively  the  slide  of  the  fifth  and 
octave.  Any  word  receiving  this  stroke  or  slide  of  the  voice  is 
so  distinguished  or  made  prominent  by  the  vocal  effect,  that  we 
call  it  an  emphatic  word.  When  we  speak  of  sending  a  word 
home,  the  sending  power  is  the  emphatic  stroke  or  slide. 


90  CHOICE  READINGS 

ILLUSTRATIVE  EXAMPLES 

But    \  man  will  say,  ^^  are  the  dead  raised  up,  and  with 

what      ?^  do  they  come? 

But  if  our  gospel  be   <Q^  it  is  -^  to  them  who  are  \ 

For  as  many  as  are  %*  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  they  are  the  %^ 
of  God. 

O  death,  %,  is  thy  sting?    O  grave,  where  is  %  victory? 

It  is  important  to  note  that  the  slide  begins  above  the  level 
of  the  ordinary  pitch  and  extends  to  an  equal  distance  below  it. 
This  is  necessary  that  the  slide  may  be  made  to  harmonize  with 
the  current  melody.  If  the  slide  should  be  made  so  that  the  vocal 
stroke  is  entirely  below  the  level   of  the   ordinary  pitch,   thus, 

-  -  -   \ \ \,  the  reading  would  become  heavy 

and  plunging.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  slide  is  made  above  the 

line,  thus,  — ^ \ ^,  the  reading  would  become 

light  and  unimpressive. 


ILLUSTRATIVE  EXAMPLES  OF  THE  FIFTH  AND 
OCTAVE 

FROM  THE  BURIAL  MARCH  OF  DUNDEE 

"  Soldiers !     I  have  sworn  a   % 
Ere  the  evening  star  shall  glisten 
On  Schiehallion's  lofty  brow, 


Either  we  shall  rest  in  *^ 
Or  %  of  the  Graemes 
Shall  have  died  in  battle-harness 


EMPHASIS,  INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE     91 
For  his    %.   and     ^ 

Think  upon  the  Royal     ^ 

\ 
% 

Think  of  what  his  race    ^ 

A 

% 

Think  of  him  whom  butchers  vj^ 

\ 

On  the  field  of  % 

\ 

\ 
By  his  sacred  blood  I    ^a 


By  the  ruined    ^  and    ^• 


By  the  blighted  hopes  of    9^ 


%. 


u< 


By  %^  injuries  and    "^ 


\ 


^  this  day  as  if  the  ^ 
Lay  beneath  your  blows  the  while, 


9^  CHOICE  READINGS 

Be  they  covenanting  traitors, 


Or  the  brood  of  false    ^ 


^> 


^  and  drive  the  trembling  rebels 

'^  o'er  the  stormy  ^ 

Let  them  tell  their  pale  Convention 
How  they    ^    v^ithin  the  North. 

Let  them  tell  that  Highland    9> 

Is  not  to  be    %^     nor    ^ 
That  we    <o    their  Prince's  anger 
As  we     ^^  his  foreign  gold, 

'^^  and  when  the  fight  is  over, 

If  ye  look  in  vain  for  me, 
Where  the  dead  are  lying  thickest, 
Search  for  him  that  was  Dundee !  " 

—  William  E,  Aytoum 


EMPHASIS,  INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE      93 

FROM  CORIOLANUS 
Aufidius.     "  Name  not  the  god, 
Thou  boy  of  tears. 

Coriolanus       <^      thou  hast  made  my  heart 


% 


\ 


Too  great  for  what  % 


^        Cut  me  to    -^  Volscians:  men  and  %> 

t 

Stain  "^  of  your  edges  on  me.    -^ 

If  you  have  writ  your  annals  true,  't  is  there 
That,  like  an  eagle  in  a  dovecot,  I 

"^  n 

^  your  Volscians  in    o^ 

%  % 

"a   I  did  it. —      ^  —  William   Shakespeare. 


% 


CADENCE 


Cadence  is  the  name  given  to  the  closing  melody  of  sentences. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  cadence  —  partial  and  complete.  Com- 
plete cadence  is  used  at  periods  where  the  whole  thought  has  been 
expressed.  Partial  cadence  is  used  at  semicolons  and  colons,  where 
complete  thought  has  been  expressed,  but  not  the  whole  thought 
of  the  paragraph. 

It  may  be  well  to  inquire  why  we  use  a  falling  Inflection  or 


94  CHOICE  READINGS 

complete  cadence  at  a  period.  Usually  at  a  period  complete 
thought  has  been  expressed,  and  the  utmost  closing  musical  effect 
is  required  to  indicate  that  completion.  If  then,  at  a  period,  the 
falling  inflection  is  required  because  complete  thought  has  been 
expressed,  we  might  expect  that,  at  a  comma,  which  indicates 
simply  a  grammatical  division,  the  opposite  or  rising  inflection 
would  be  required;  which  is  really  the  case.     The  rise,  however, 

is  so  slight  that  it  may  be  indicated  by  a  horizontal  line,  thus ; 

signifying  that  the  voice  is  suspended.  If  then  a  suspension  of 
voice  is  used  at  a  comma,  and  a  full  cadence  at  a  period,  what 
form  of  closing  melody  should  be  used  at  semicolons  and  colons? 
The  answer  is  a  Partial  Cadence.  It  must  be  distinctly  under- 
stood that  we  make  use  of  the  punctuation  marks  here  simply  to 
make  the  discussion  more  definite.  If  a  comma  were  used  to 
indicate  a  grammatical  division  simply,  and  a  semicolon  or  a  colon 
to  indicate  complete  thought  and  yet  not  the  whole  thought,  and 
a  period  to  indicate  fully  completed  thought,  we  should  get  on 
with  the  marks  without  trouble;  but  the  laws  for  punctuation, 
unfortunately,  are  not  yet  fixed,  or  universally  observed,  and 
hence  the  only  safe  guide  in  reading  is  to  follow  the  sense.  The 
partial  cadence  is  used  so  frequently  in  paragraphic  writing,  that 
it  would  be  well  briefly  to  investigate  the  structure  of  the  par- 
agraphic sentence.  It  is  a  series  of  simple  sentences,  each  making 
complete  sense  in  itself,  bound  together  for  the  cumulative  effect 
of  the  whole  series. 

EXAMPLE 

"  Doing  well  is  the  cause  of  a  just  sense  of  elevation  of  char- 
acter; it  clears  and  strengthens  the  spirits;  it  gives  higher  reaches 
of  thought;  it  widens  our  benevolence;  and  makes  the  current  of 
our  peculiar  affections  swift  and  deep." 

Take  the  first  sentence  in  the  paragraph  "  Doing  well  is  the 
cause  of  a  just  sense  of  elevation  of  character."  Here  is  a  com- 
plete thought  which  might  be  severed  from  its  connections,  and 
made  to  terminate  with  a  full  cadence;  yet  it  is  not  the  whole 
thought  contained  in  the  paragraph.  The  elocutionary  require- 
ments, then,  are  that  a  closing  vocal  effect  must  be  employed  here 
to  indicate  completed  thought,  and  a  rising  effect  to  anticipate  the 
sentences  that  are  to  follow.  The  partial  cadence,  then,  is  a  clos- 
ing and  a  rising  vocal  effect  combined  —  a  melody  that  closes  up 


EMPHASIS,  INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE      95 

what  has  been  said,  and  suspends  the  mind  in  anticipation  of  what 
is  to  follow.    The  form  of  musical  notation  indicating  the  partial 

cadence  may  be  usually  written  thus,    ■  ^    ^\     •F-       Sometimes 


^ 


we  hear  a  melody  that  may  be  written  thus,  ^     ^    Mjzz 

or  thus,        ^     •>    -^—      It  is  well,  however,  to  leave  the  whole 

matter  o^  melody,  as  well  as  the  number  of  words  or  syllables  re- 
quired for  its  execution,  to  the  individual  taste  of  the  speaker. 
The  thing  of  importance  is  the  general  principle,  which  is  clear, 
viz.,  that  a  closing  and  a  suspensive  inflection  must  be  secured.  By 
turning  the  concrete  or  stem  of  the  last  note  down,  we  secure  a 
closing  effect  or  falling  inflection;  and  by  placing  the  radical  or 
bulb  of  the  last  note  higher  on  the  musical  scale  than  the  previous 
note,  we  secure  a  suspensive  inflection. 

ILLUSTRATIVE  EXAMPLES 

Doing  well  is  the  cause  of  a  just  sense  of  elevation  \ 

of  %^ 

%•  .  •        ^   '■ 

it  clears  and  strengthens        ^-    it  gives  higher  reaches  % 

the  t  of     % 

.      .  %  .  ." 

it  widens        "©^  and  makes  the  current  of  our  peculiar  affections 

our     % 

\ 

swift  and  deep. 

I   have  roamed   through   the  world   to  find  hearts   nowhere 

warmer  ^     soldiers  ^ 

than   %  nowhere       ^ 

<^ 

"%  <^ 

patriots  ^     wives  and  mothers  <^ 

nowhere      -'•  nowhere    -»• 

maidens  y^ 

nowhere      \,  green  valleys  and  bright  rivers  nowhere 


greener  or  brighter. 


96  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  is  important  to  note  that,  as  the  thought  and  language  be^ 
come  more  intense  and  fervid,  there  is  a  change  or  variety  in  the 
melody  of  the  cadence.  In  the  natural  rise  of  climactic  intensity, 
as  in  the  last  illustrative  example,  the  Partial  Cadence  might  be 
w^ritten  in  musical  form,  thus, 


jk        maidens  <^^ 

^    ^      £l  nowhere   "^ 


The  same  principle  evidently  obtains,  but,  in  its  application,  the 
musical  form  is  changed.  This  is  an  important  fact,  and  relieve^ 
the  ear  from  the  constant  recurrence  of  the  same  musical  effect, 
which  is  extremely  annoying  to  people  of  cultivated  taste. 

It  now  remains  for  us  to  discuss  the  complete  cadence.  This 
occurs  at  the  close  of  sentences  and  paragraphs,  and  is  preceded 
by  the  penultimate  slide.  The  penultimate  slide  is  an  upward 
movement  of  the  voice,  and  occurs  generally  on  the  last  word  or 
w^ords  of  the  penultimate  clause.  The  special  function  of  the 
penultimate  slide  is  to  lift  the  voice  up  on  the  musical  scale  so  that 
the  descent  on  the  last  clause  may  be  more  impressive  and  per- 
ceptible to  the  ear.  If,  in  the  delivery  of  a  climactic  paragraph, 
the  voice  be  allowed  to  move  on  to  the  end  without  any  special 
rise,  and  the  closing  cadence  be  immediately  applied,  the  sudden- 
ness and  abruptness  of  the  descent  will  fail  to  produce  the  pleas- 
ing impression  of  repose  and  completion.  In  order  to  secure  the 
most  satisfactory  results,  the  voice  must  reach  the  line  of  full 
repose  by  successive  descents  at  the  longest  possible  intervals.  The 
penultimate  slide  has  been  aptly  called  "  the  flourish  of  the  period." 

ILLUSTRATIVE  EXAMPLE 
But  the  same  impartial  history  will  record  more   than   one 

^^  ^  ^. 

ineffaceable  stain  upon  ^^^     and     ^         to  the  end      V) 


his    %  ^  of 


<^ 


%_  on  the  page  of  historian,  poet         "<:'        t^  till  a  taste  for 

or     %        <^ 

is" 


EMPHASIS,  INFLECTION  AND  CADENCE      97 

true  moral  greatness  Is  eaten  out  of  the  hearts  of  men  by  a  mean 

admiration  of  success  ex  "^         in  the  exhortations  of 

and         <^  <^ 

the  prudent  magistrate  counseling  his  fellow- citizens  for        V  <$^ 

their 

in  the  dark  ages  of  national  fortune,  when  anxious  patriots  explore 

the  annals  of  the  past  for  examples  of  ^'    ^    in  the  admoni- 

publlc  %   \ 

tlon  of  the  parent  forming  the  minds  of  his  children  by  lessons  of 

'^         ^  O       ^  will  the  name  of       ^ 

fireside        %  ^  %  \ 

nor  of  any  of  the     *^     of  the  famous  conquerors  of  ancient  and 

^e?-        be  placed  upon  a 
<$^''  «level 

^wlth 

•Washington's. 

The  recurring  word  never  receives  the  emphatic  slide  of  the 
fifth,  increasing  to  the  octave  on  the  last  repetition  of  never; 
the  words  Tslapoleon  and  other  receive  the  stroke  of  the  fifth, 
while  the  sentences  of  the  paragraph  are  closed  with  partial 
cadences;  and  the  penultimate  slide,  preparatory  to  the  complete 
cadence  occurs  on  the  words  modern  days. 

The  penultimate  slide  is  not  confined  to  oratorical  selections, 
but  occurs  in  all  common  reading,  though  applied  in  a  more  sub- 
dued form  and  with  a  shortened  upward  stroke.  In  grand, 
sublime  and  reverential  styles,  its  use  is  indispensable. 

The  fullest  cadentlal  melody  is  the  ''  Triad  of  the  Cadence,'' 
or  three  successive  downward  steps  on  the  musical  scale,  thus: 


98  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Doing  well  makes  the  current  of  our  peculiar 

#swift 

#and 

^deep." 

In  the  best  manuals  of  elocution  may  be  found  a  full  discus- 
sion of  the  various  forms  of  complete  cadence :  the  Monad,  Duad, 
Triad,  Tetrad  and  Pentad  forms.  However,  the  triad  form  is 
recommended  for  general  use  as  the  most  pleasing  and  satisfactory, 
even  if  we  are  obliged  to  use  words  instead  of  syllables  in  executing 
the  successive  downward  steps,  and  sometimes  are  obliged  to 
sacrifice  a  trifle  in  strength  for  the  sake  of  melodious  closing  effects. 
If  the  question  is  asked.  Would  you  ever  use  a  monad  or  duad 
form  of  cadence?  I  should  answer.  Yes;  but  for  general  practical 
use  the  triad  is  preferred  for  reasons  stated.  This,  like  all  ot/her 
ideas  in  this  discussion,  is  offered  as  a  suggestion  rather  than  as 
a  general  law,  and  for  the  following  reason:  in  all  matters  of 
melody,  whether  current  or  closing,  the  student  must  be  allowed 
the  largest  possible  liberty  consistent  with  a  cultivated  musical 
taste. 


EXPRESSION 

By  Expression  we  mean  the  utterance  of  words  with  theii 
accompanying  emotions.  We  do  not  develop  the  full  thought  ot 
an  emotional  selection  by  the  mere  repetition  of  the  words.  If 
we  did,  the  tenderest  pathos  and  the  sublimest  passion  would 
alike  sink  to  the  level  of  the  most  common  talk.  The  temper  or 
emotion  which  is  the  life  of  the  thought,  and  which  seeks  convey- 
ance in  the  words,  must  be  expressed  before  the  meaning  of  the 
author  can  be  made  known. 

A  knowledge,  then,  of  the  laws  of  Expression  is  necessary  to 
the  proper  interpretation  of  thought.  The  method  proposed  in 
this  book  for  the  attainment  of  such  knowledge  has  taken  shape  in 
my  daily  experience  as  a  teacher,  and  has  no  greater  merit  than 
its  practicability.  No  merely  arbitrary  rules  are  of  value  here. 
Nature  must  ever  be  the  great  teacher,  and  he  who  observes  most 
clearly  her  best  manifestations  must  be,  of  necessity,  the  best  fitted 
to  deduce  the  laws  that  underlie  and  control  those  manifestations. 

It  is,  however,  of  great  importance  to  the  student  of  Elocu- 
tion to  remember  that  there  is  a  certain  best  way  to  render  every 
emotion,  and  having  mastered  one  selection  of  a  great  class,  the 
power  has  been  acquired  to  render  all  selections  of  that  type.  By 
pursuing  such  a  method,  the  reader  will  be  lifted  from  the  con- 
templation of  a  single  piece  to  the  class  of  which  it  is  a  specimen, 
and  eventually  to  a  classified  knowledge  of  the  laws  that  develop^ 
every  sentiment  and  passion  of  the  human  soul. 


99 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND 
DIDACTIC  STYLES 

This  class  of  selections  includes  all  that  is  generally  designated 
as  common  reading,  viz.:  conversations,  essays,  newspaper  compo- 
sition, or  any  selection  which  is  intended  simply  to  convey  infor- 
mation to  the  mind.  So  frequent  is  the  use  of  this  style  of  address 
that  more  than  two-thirds  of  everything  the  professional  man  has 
to  utter  falls  under  this  head,  and  in  non-professional  life  nearly 
everything  that  is  spoken.  The  excellences  of  common  reading 
may  be  compassed  by  observing  the  following*  suggestions: 

First  —  Purity  of  tone. 

Second  —  Variety  of  tone. 

Third  —  Distinctness  of  enunciation. 

Purity  of  tone  is  of  as  much  importance  m  common  reading  as 
in  the  rendering  of  sentiment.  Every  tone  should  fall  from  the 
lips  like  the  tinkle  of  a  coin  upon  the  table.  A  clear,  musical  and 
crystalline  articulation  is  the  highest  charm  of  common  reading. 

Variety  of  tone  is  an  element  not  to  be  overlooked.  An  essay 
can  be  written  out  in  musical  forms  as  well  as  an  oratorio,  and  he 
who  makes  the  best  music  is,  other  things  being  equal,  the  best 
reader.  A  well-modulated  voice  traversing  the  musical  scale  with 
happy  intonations  renders  common  reading  not  only  interesting, 
but  highly  artistic  and  charming.  The  only  caution  necessary 
is  that  over-much  variety  may  render  the  reading  fantastic  and 
flippant. 

Distinctness  of  enunciation  must  always  be  stricty  demxanded. 
As  a  rule,  we  enunciate  the  first  parts  of  our  words  distinctly,  but 
the  last  parts  are  frequently  blurred,  or  left  untouched.  The  only 
relief  in  such  cases  is  a  thorough  drill  in  the  consonantal  elements, 
until  firmness,  accuracy  and  force  are  developed  in  enunciation. 
The  last  syllable  in  a  word  should  be  brought  out  as  distinctly  as 
the  first,  and  the  middle  syllables  as  distinctly  as  the  last. 

The  question  may  be  raised,  are  Narrative,  Descriptive,  and 
Didactic  styles  all  read  in  the  same  manner?  Narrative  and  De- 
scriptive  Readings,   appealing   in   many  instances  to  feeling  and 

100 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACnC  101 

imagination  for  their  chief  effects,  abound  in  vivid  and  varied  tones 
associated  w^ith  the  different  moods  of  sympathy  and  emotion; 
w^hile  Didactic  subjects,  being  usually  directed  to  the  reason  and 
judgment  through  the  understanding,  hold  a  more  steady,  uniform 
and  regulated  course  of  utterance,  adapted  to  a  clear,  distinct,  and 
pointed  conveyance  of  thought  to  the  intellect. 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND 

DIDACTIC  SELECTIONS 

HAMLET'S  INSTRUCTIONS  TO  THE  PLAYERS 

Speak  the  speech  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you, — 
trippingly  on  the  tongue ;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our 
players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  spake  my  lines.  Nor  do 
not  savv^  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand  thus,  but  use  all  gently ; 
for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of 
your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget  a  temperance,  that  may 
give  it  smoothness.  Oh!  it  offends  me  to  the  soul  to  hear  a  ro- 
bustious periwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters, —  to  very 
rags, —  to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings ;  who,  for  the  most 
part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  show  and  noise. 
I  would  have  such  ^  fellow  whipped  for  o'erdoing  Termagant:  it 
out-herods  Herod.     Pray  you,  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame,  ^neither,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be  your 
tutor.  Suit  the  action  to  the  word ;  the  word  to  the  action ;  with 
this  special  observance  —  that  you  o'erstep  not  the  modesty  of 
nature:  for  anything  so  overdone  is  from  the  purpose  of  playing ;| 
whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and  now,  was,  and  is,  to  hold,  as 
't^wcre,  the  mirror  up  to  nature ;  —  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature ; 
scorn  her  own  image ;  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time,  his 
form  and  pressure.  Now  this,  overdone  or  come  tardy  off,  though 
it  make  the  unskillful  laugh,  can  not  but  make  the  judicious  grieve; 
the  censure  of  which  one,  must,  in  your  allowance,  o'erweigh  a 
whole  theater  of  others.  Oh!  there  be  players,  that  I  have  seen 
play,  and  heard  others  praise,  and  that  highly,  not  to  speak  it  pro- 
fanely, that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christians,  nor  the  gait 
of  Christian,  pagan,  or  man,  have  so  strutted  and  bellowed,  that 


102  CHOtap  READINGS 

I  have  thought  some  of  nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and 
not  made  them  well, —  they  imitated  humanity  so  abominably ! 

—  William  Shakespeare, 


BOOKS 


Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.  Their 
chief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness,  and  retiring;  for  ornament, 
is  in  discourse;  and  for  ability,  is  in  the  judgment  and  disposition 
of  business;  for  expert  men  can  execute,  and  perhaps  judge  of  par- 
ticulars, one  by  one;  but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and 
marshalling  of  affairs,  come  best  from  those  that  are  learned. 

To  spend  too  much  time  in  studies,  is  sloth;  to  use  them  too 
much  for  ornament,  is  affectation;  to  make  judgment  wholly  by 
their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar;  they  perfect  nature,  and  are 
perfected  by  experience  —  for  natural  abilities  are  like  natural 
plants,  that  need  pruning  by  study;  and  studies  themselves  do  give 
forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except  they  be  bounded  in  by 
experience.  Crafty  men  contemn  studies,  simple  men  admire  them, 
and  wise  men  use  them,  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use ;  but  that 
is  ^wisdom  without  them,  and  above  them,  won  by  observation. 
Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  take  for 
granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider. 
Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few 
to  be  chewed  and  digested :  that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only 
in  parts;  others  to  be  read,  but  not  curiously;  and  some  few  to  be 
read  wholly,  and  with  diligence  and  attention.  Some  books  also 
may  be  read  by  deputy  and  extracts  made  of  them  by  others; 
but  that  would  be  only  in  the  less  important  arguments,  and  the 
meaner  sort  of  books;  else  distilled  books  are,  like  common  distilled 
waters,  flashy  things.  Reading  maketh  a  full  man,  conference  a 
ready  man,  and  writing  an  exact  man;  and,  therefore,  if  a  man 
write  little,  he  had  need  have  a  great  memory;  if  he  confer  little,  he 
had  need  have  a  present  wit ;  and  if  he  read  little,  he  had  need  have 
much  cunning,  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not.  Histories  make 
men  wise;  poets  witty;  the  mathematics  subtle;  natural  philosophy 
deep;  moral  grave;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend. 

—  Francis  Bacon. 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  103 


THE  CHILD-WIFE 

All  this  time  I  had  gone  on  loving  Dora  harder  than  ever.  If  I 
may  so  express  it,  I  was  steeped  in  Dora.  I  was  not  merely  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  her,  I  was  saturated  through  and 
through.  I  took  night  walks  to  Norwood  where  she  lived,  and 
perambulated  round  and  round  the  house  and  garden  for  hours 
together,  looking  through  crevices  in  the  palings,  using  violent 
exertions  to  get  my  chin  above  the  rusty  nails  on  the  top,  blowing 
kisses  at  the  lights  in  the  windows,  and  romantically  calling  on  the 
night  to  shield  my  Dora, —  I  do  n't  exactly  know  from  what, — 
I  suppose  from  fire,  perhaps  from  mice,  to  which  she  had  a  great 
objection. 

Dora  had  a  discreet  friend,  comparatively  stricken  in  years, 
almost  of  the  ripe  age  of  twenty,  I  should  say,  whose  name  was 
Miss  Mills.  Dora  called  her  Julia.  She  was  the  bosom  friend  of 
Dora.     Happy  Miss  Mills! 

One  day  Miss  Mills  said:  "  Dora  is  coming  to  stay  with  me. 
She  is  com.ing  the  day  after  to-morrow.  If  you  would  like  to 
call.     I  am  sure  papa  would  be  happy  to  see  you.'' 

I  passed  three  days  in  a  luxury  of  wretchedness.  At  last,  ar- 
rayed for  the  purpose  at  a  vast  expense,  I  went  to  Miss  M^s's, 
fraught  with  a  declaration.  Mr.  Mills  was  not  at  home.  I  did  n't 
expect  he  w^ould  be.  Nobody  wanted  him.  Miss  Mills  was  at 
home.     Miss  Mills  would  do. 

I  was  shown  into  a  room  upstairs,  where  Miss  Mills  and  Dora 
were.  Dora's  little  dog  Jip  was  there.  Miss  Mills  was  copying 
music,  and  Dora  was  painting  flowers.  What  were  my  feelings 
when  I  recognized  flowers  I  had  given  her! 

Miss  Mills  was  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  very  sorry  her  papa 
was  not  at  home,  though  I  thought  we  all  bore  that  with  fortitude. 
Miss  Mills  w^as  conversational  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  laying 
down  her  pen,  got  up  and  left  the  room. 

I  began  to  think  I  would  put  it  ofF  till  to-morrow. 

*'  I  hope  your  poor  horse  was  not  tired  when  he  got  home  at 
night  from  that  picnic,"  said  Dora,  lifting  up  her  beautiful  eyes. 
"  It  was  a  long  way  for  him." 

I  began  to  think  I  would  do  it  to-day. 

"  It  was  a  long  way  for  him,  for  he  had  nothing  to  uphold 
him  on  his  journey." 


104  CHOICE  READINGS 

"Wasn't  he  fed,  poor  thing?"  asked  Dora. 

I  began  to  think  I  would  put  it  off  till  to-morrow. 

"Ye  —  yes,  he  was  well  taken  care  of.  I  mean  he  had  not 
the  unutterable  happiness  that  I  had  in  being  so  near  to  you." 

I  saw  now  that  I  was  in  for  it,  and  it  must  be  done  on  the 
spot. 

"  I  do  n't  know  why  you  should  care  for  being  near  me,"  said 
Dora,  "  or  why  you  should  call  it  a  happiness.  But,  of  course, 
you  do  n't  mean  what  you  say.    Jip,  you  naughty  boy,  come  here !  " 

I  do  n't  know  how  I  did  it,  but  I  did  it  in  a  moment. 

I  intercepted  Jip.  I  had  Dora  in  my  arms.  I  was  full  of  elo- 
quence. I  never  stopped  for  a  word.  I  told  her  how  I  loved  her. 
I  told  her  I  should  die  without  her.  I  told  her  that  I  idolized  and 
worshiped  her.  Jip  barked  madly  all  the  time.  My  eloquence 
increased,  and  I  said,  if  she  would  like  me  to  die  for  her,  she  had 
but  to  say  the  word,  and  I  was  ready.  I  had  loved  her  to  dis- 
traction every  minute,  day  and  night,  since  I  first  set  eyes  upon  her. 
I  loved  her  at  that  moment  to  distraction.  I  should  always  love 
her,  every  minute,  to  distraction.  Lovers  had  loved  before,  and 
lovers  would  love  again ;  but  no  lover  had  ever  loved,  might,  could, 
would,  or  should  ever  love,  as  I  loved  Dora.  The  more  I  raved, 
the  more  Jip  barked.  Each  of  us  in  his  own  way  got  more  mad 
every  moment. 

Well,  well:  Dora  and  I  were  sitting  on  the  sofa,  by  and  by, 
quiet  enough,  and  Jip  was  lying  in  her  lap  winking  peacefully  at 
me.  It  was  off  my  mind.  I  was  in  a  state  of  perfect  rapture. 
Dora  and  I  were  engaged. 

—  Charles  Dickens. 


GEORGE  THE  THIRD 

We  have  to  glance  over  sixty  years  in  as  many  minutes.  To 
read  the  mere  catalogue  of  characters  who  figured  during  that 
long  period,  would  occupy  our  allotted  time,  and  we  should  have 
all  text  and  no  sermon.  England  has  to  undergo  the  revolt  of  the 
American  colonies;  to  submit  to  defeat  and  separation;  to  shake 
under  the  volcano  of  the  French  Revolution ;  to  grapple  and  fight 
for  the  life  with  her  gigantic  enemy  Napoleon ;  to  gasp  and  rally 
after  that  tremendous  struggle.  The  old  society,  with  its  courtly 
splendors,  has  to  pass  away;  generations  of  statesmen  to  rise  and 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  105 

disappear;  Pitt  to  follow  Chatham  to  the  tomb;  the  memory  of 
Rodney  and  Wolfe  to  be  superseded  by  Nelson's  and  Wellington's 
glory ;  the  old  poets  who  unite  us  to  Queen  Anne's  time  to  sink  into 
their  graves ;  Johnson  to  die,  and  Scott  and  Byron  to  arise,  Garrick 
to  delight  the  world  with  his  dazzling  dramatic  genius,  and  Kean 
to  leap  on  the  stage  and  take  possession  of  the  astonished  theater. 
Steam  has  to  be  invented ;  kings  to  be  beheaded,  banished,  deposed, 
restored;  Napoleon  to  be  but  an  episode,  and  George  III.  is  to  be 
alive  through  all  these  varied  changes,  to  accompany  his  people 
through  all  these  revolutions  of  thought,  government,  society, — 
to  survive  out  of  the  old  world  into  ours. 

His  mother's  bigotry  and  hatred  George  inherited  with  the 
courageous  obstinacy  of  his  own  race;  but  he  was  a  firm  believer 
where  his  fathers  had  been  free-thinkers,  and  a  true  and  fond  sup- 
porter of  the  Church,  of  which  he  was  the  titular  defender.  Like 
other  dull  men,  the  king  was  all  his  life  suspicious  of  superior  peo- 
ple. He  did  not  like  Fox;  he  did  not  like  Reynolds;  he  did  not 
like  Nelson,  Chatham,  Burke:  he  was  testy  at  the  idea  of  all  inno- 
vations, and  suspicious  of  all  innovators.  He  loved  m.ediocrities ; 
Benjamin  West  was  his  favorite  painter;  Beattie  was  his  poet.  The 
king  lamented,  not  without  pathos,  in  his  after  life,  that  his  educa- 
tion had  been  neglected.  He  was  a  dull  lad,  brought  up  by  narrow- 
minded  people.  The  cleverest  tutors  in  the  world  could  have 
done  little  probably  to  expand  that  small  intellect,  though  they 
might  have  improved  his  tastes  and  taught  his  perceptions  some 
generosity. 

George  married  the  Princess  Charlotte  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz, 
and  for  years  they  led  the  happiest,  simplest  lives,  sure,  ever  led  by 
married  couple.  It  is  said  the  king  winced  when  he  first  saw  his 
homely  little  bride;  but,  however  that  may  be,  he  was  a  true  and 
faithful  husband  to  her,  as  she  was  a  faithful  and  loving  wife. 
They  had  the  simplest  pleasures, —  the  very  mildest  and  simplest, 
—  little  country  dances,  to  which  a  dozen  couple  were  invited,  and 
where  the  honest  king  would  stand  up  and  dance  for  three  hours 
at  a  time  to  one  tune ;  after  which  delicious  excitement  they  would 
go  to  bed  without  any  supper  (the  Court  people  grumbling  sadly 
at  that  absence  of  supper),  and  get  up  quite  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  perhaps  the  next  night  have  another  dance ;  or  the  queen 
would  play  on  the  spinnet,—  she  played  pretty  well,  Haydn  said ; 
or  the  king  would  read  to  her  a  paper  out  of  the  Spectator,  or  per- 


106  CHOICE  READINGS 

haps  one  of  Ogden's  sermons.  O  Arcadia!  what  a  life  it  must 
have  been  I 

The  theater  was  always  his  delight.  His  bishops  and  clergy 
used  to  attend  it,  thinking  it  no  shame  to  appear  where  that  good 
man  was  seen.  He  is  said  not  to  have  cared  for  Shakespeare  or 
tragedy  much;  farces  and  pantomimes  were  his  joy;  and  especially 
when  clown  swallowed  a  carrot  or  a  string  of  sausages,  he  would 
laugh  so  outrageously  that  the  lovely  princess  by  his  side  would 
have  to  say,  **  My  gracious  monarch,  do  compose  yourself.''  But 
he  continued  to  laugh,  and  at  the  very  smallest  farces,  as  long  as 
his  poor  wits  were  left  him. 

''  George,  be  a  king!  "  were  the  words  which  his  mother  was 
forever  croaking  in  the  ears  of  her  son;  and  a  king  the  simple, 
stubborn,  affectionate,  bigoted  man  tried  to  be. 

He  did  his  best, —  worked  according  to  his  lights:  what  virtue 
he  knew,  he  tried  to  practice;  what  knowledge  he  could  master,  he 
strove  to  acquire.  But,  as  one  thinks  of  an  office  almost  divine, 
performed  by  any  mortal  man, —  of  any  single  being  pretending  to 
control  the  thoughts,  to  direct  the  faith,  to  order  implicit  obedience 
of  brother  millions;  to  compel  them  Into  war  at  his  offense  or 
quarrel ;  to  command,  "  In  this  way  you  shall  trade,  in  this  way 
you  shall  think;  these  neighbors  shall  be  your  allies,  whom  you 
shall  help, —  these  others  your  enemies,  whom  you  shall  slay  at  my 
orders;  in  this  way  you  shall  worship  God;  "  —  who  can  wonder 
that,  when  such  a  man  as  George  took  such  an  office  on  himself, 
punishment  and  humiliation  should  fall  upon  people  and  chief? 

Yet  there  Is  something  grand  about  his  courage.  The  battle 
of  the  king  with  his  aristocracy  remains  yet  to  be  told  by  the  his- 
torian who  shall  view  the  reign  of  George  more  justly  than  the 
trumpery  panegyrists  who  wrote  Immediately  after  his  decease.  It 
was  he,  with  the  people  to  back  him,  that  made  the  war  with 
America;  It  was  he  and  the  people  who  refused  justice  to  the 
Roman  Catholics ;  and  on  both  questions  he  beat  the  patricians. 
He  bribed,  he  bullied,  he  darkly  dissembled  on  occasion;  he  exer- 
cised a  slippery  perseverance,  and  a  vindictive  resolution,  which  one 
almost  admires  as  one  thinks  his  character  over.  His  courage 
was  never  to  be  beat.  It  trampled  North  underfoot;  it  bent  the 
stiff  neck  of  the  younger  Pitt;  even  his  Illness  never  conquered 
that  Indomitable  spirit.  As  soon  as  his  brain  was  clear,  it  resumed 
the  scheme,  only  laid  aside  when  his  reason  left  him:  as  soon  as 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  107 

his  hands  were  out  of  the  strait-waistcoat,  they  took  up  the  pen  and 
the  plan  which  had  engaged  him  up  to  the  moment  of  his  malady. 
I  believe  it  is  by  persons  believing  themselves  in  the  right,  that 
nine-tenths  of  the  tyranny  of  this  world  has  been  perpetrated. 
Arguing  on  that  convenient  premise,  the  Dey  of  Algiers  would  cut 
off  twenty  heads  of  a  morning;  Father  Dominic  would  burn  a 
score  of  Jews  in  the  presence  of  the  Most  Catholic  King,  and  the 
Archbishops  of  Toledo  and  Salamanca  sing  Amen.  Protestants 
were  roasted,  Jesuits  hung  and  quartered  at  Smithfield,  and 
witches  burned  at  Salem;  and  all  by  worthy  people,  who  believed 
they  had  the  best  authority  for  their  actions.  And  so  with  respect 
to  old  George,  even  Americans  whom  he  hated  and  who  conquered 
him,  may  give  him  credit  for  having  quite  honest  reasons  for  op- 
pressing them. 

Of  little  comfort  were  the  king's  sons  to  the  king.  But  the 
pretty  Amelia  was  his  darling;  and  the  little  maiden,  prattling  and 
smiling  in  the  fond  arms  of  that  old  father,  is  a  sweet  image  to 
look  on. 

From  November,  1810,  George  III.  ceased  to  reign.  All  the 
world  knows  the  story  of  his  malady ;  all  history  presents  no  sadder 
figure  than  that  of  the  old  man,  blind  and  deprived  of  reason, 
wandering  through  the  rooms  of  his  palace,  addressing  imaginary 
parliaments,  reviewing  fancied  troops,  holding  ghostly  courts.  I 
have  seen  his  picture  as  it  was  taken  at  this  time,  hanging  in  the 
apartment  of  his  daughter,  the  Landgravine  of  Hesse  Homburg, — 
amidst  books  and  Windsor  furniture,  and  a  hundred  fond  remi- 
niscences of  her  English  home.  The  poor  old  father  is  represented 
in  a  purple  gown,  his  snowy  beard  falling  over  his  breast, —  the 
star  of  his  famous  Order  still  idly  shining  on  it.  He  was  not  only 
sightless, —  he  became  utterly  deaf.  All  light,  all  reason,  all  sound 
of  human  voices,  all  the  pleasures  of  this  world  of  God,  were 
taken  from  him.  Some  slight  lucid  moments  he  had;  in  one  of 
which,  the  queen,  desiring  to  see  him,  entered  the  room,  and  found 
him  singing  a  hymn,  and  accompanying  himself  at  the  harpsichord. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  knelt  down  and  prayed  aloud  for  her, 
and  then  for  his  family,  and  then  for  the  nation,  concluding  with 
a  prayer  for  himself,  that  it  might  please  God  to  avert  His  heavy 
calamity  from  him,  but  if  not,  to  give  him  resignation  to  submit. 
He  then  burst  into  tears,  and  his  reason  again  fled. 

What  preacher  need  moralize  on  this  story;  what  words  save 


108  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  simplest  are  requisite  to  tell  it?  It  Is  too  terrible  for  tears.  The 
thought  of  such  a  misery  smites  me  down  in  submission  before  the 
Ruler  of  kings  and  men,  the  Monarch  Supreme  over  empires  and 
republics,  the  inscrutable  Dispenser  of  life,  death,  happiness,  vic- 
tory. "  O  brothers,"  I  said  to  those  who  heard  me  first  in  America, 
"O  brothers!  speaking  the  same  dear  mother  tongue,— O  com- 
rades! enemies  no  more,  let  us  take  a  mournful  hand  together  as 
we  stand  by  this  royal  corpse,  and  call  a  truce  to  battle!  Low 
he  lies  to  whom  the  proudest  used  to  kneel  once,  and  who  was 
cast  lower  than  the  poorest;  dead,  whom  millions  prayed  for  in 
vain.  Driven  off  his  throne,  buffeted  by  rude  hands;  with  his 
children  In  revolt;  the  darling  of  his  old  age  killed  before  him 
untimely;  our  Lear  hangs  over  her  breathless  lips  and  cries,  '  Cor- 
delia, Cordelia,  stay  a  little ! ' 

*  Vex  not  his  ghost  —  oh !  let  him  pass  —  he  hates  him 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer !  * 

"  Hush!  Strife  and  Quarrel,  over  the  solemn  grave!  Sound, 
Trumpets,  a  mournful  march.  Fall,  Dark  Curtain,  upon  his 
pageant,  his  pride,  his  grief,  his  awful  tragedy !  " 

—  JVilliam  Makepeace  Thackeray, 


THE  BIRTH  OF  DOMBEY 

Rich  Mr.  Dombey  sat  in  the  corner  of  his  wife's  darkened 
bedchamber  In  the  great  arm-chair  by  the  bedside,  and  rich  Mr. 
Dombey 's  Son  lay  tucked  up  warm  in  a  little  basket,  carefully 
placed  on  a  low  settee  In  front  of  the  fire  and  close  to  It,  as  if  his 
constitution  were  analogous  to  that  of  a  muffin,  and  it  was  essential 
te  toast  him  brown  while  he  was  very  new. 

Rich  Mr.  Dombey  was  about  eight-and-forty  years  of  age. 
Rich  Mr.  Dombey's  Son,  about  eight-and-forty  minutes. 

Mr.  Dombey,  exulting  in  the  long-looked-for  event, —  the 
birth  of  a  son, —  jingled  his  heavy  gold  watch-chain  as  he  sat  in  his 
blue  coat  and  bright  buttons  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  said:  — 

"  Our  house  of  business  will  once  again  be  not  only  in  name 
but  In  fact  Dombey  and  Son ;  Dombey  and  Son !  He  will  be  chris- 
tened Paul,  of  course.     His  father's  came,  Mrs.  Dombey,  and  his 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC   109 

grandfather's!    I  wish  his  grandfather  were  alive  this  day!  "    And 
again  he  said,  "  Dombey  and  Son/' 

Those  three  words  conveyed  the  one  idea  of  Mr.  Dombey 's 
life.  The  earth  was  made  for  Dombey  and  Son  to  trade  in,  and 
the  sun  and  moon  were  made  to  give  them  light.  Common  abbre- 
viations took  new  meanings  in  his  eyes,  and  had  sole  reference  to 
them.  A.  D.  had  no  concern  with  anno  Domini,  but  stood  for 
anno  Dombei  —  and  Son. 

He  had  been  married  ten  years,  and,  until  this  present  day  on 
which  he  sat  jingling  his  gold  watch-chain  in  the  great  arm-chair 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  had  had  no  issue. 

—  To  speak  of.  There  had  been  a  girl  some  six  years  before, 
and  she,  who  had  stolen  into  the  chamber  unobserved,  was  now 
crouching  in  a  corner  whence  she  could  see  her  mother's  face.  But 
what  was  a  girl  to  Dombey  and  Son! 

Mr.  Dombey's  cup  of  satisfaction  was  so  full,  however,  that  he 
said :  "  Florence,  you  may  go  and  look  at  your  pretty  brother,  if 
you  like.     Do  n't  touch  him !  " 

Next  moment  the  sick  lady  had  opened  her  eyes  and  seen  the 
little  girl;  and  the  little  girl  had  run  towards  her;  and,  standing 
on  tiptoe,  to  hide  her  face  in  her  embrace,  had  clung  about  her  with 
a  desperate  affection  very  much  at  variance  with  her  years.  The 
lady  herself  seemed  to  faint. 

"  O  Lord  bless  me!  "  said  Mr.  Dombey,  "  I  do  n't  like  the  look 
of  this.  A  very  ill-advised  and  feverish  proceeding  having  this 
child  here.  I  had  better  ask  Doctor  if  he  '11  have  the  goodness  to 
step  up  stairs  again,"  which  he  did,  returning  with  the  Doctor  him- 
self, and  closely  followed  by  his  sister,  Mrs.  Chick,  a  lady  rather 
past  the  middle  age  than  otherwise,  but  dressed  in  a  very  juvenile 
manner,  who  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  said :  — 

"  My  dear  Paul!  This  last  child  is  quite  a  Dombey!  He  's 
such  a  perfect  Dombey !  " 

"  Well,  well !  I  think  he  is  like  the  family.  But  what  is  this 
they  have  told  me,  since  the  child  was  born,  about  Fanny  herself? 
How  is  Fanny  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Paul,  there  's  nothing  whatever  wrong  with  Fanny. 
Take  my  word,  nothing  whatever.  An  effort  is  necessary.  That 's 
all.  Ah!  if  dear  Fanny  were  a  Dombey!  But  I  dare  say,  although 
she  is  not  a  born  Dombey  herself,  she  '11  make  an  effort ;  I  have  no 
doubt  she  '11  make  an  effort.     Knowing  it  to  be  required  of  her, 


110  CHOICE  READINGS 

as  a  duty,  of  course  she  '11  make  an  effort.  And  that  effort  she 
must  be  encouraged,  and  really,  if  ne<tessary,  urged  to  make.  Now, 
my  dear  Paul,  come  close  to  her  with  me.'' 

The  lady  lay  immovable  upon  her  bed,  clasping  her  little 
daughter  to  her  breast.  The  girl  clung  close  about  her,  with  the 
same  intensity  as  before,  and  never  raised  her  head,  or  moved  her 
soft  cheek  from  her  mother's  face,  or  looked  on  those  who  stood 
around,  or  spoke,  or  moved,  or  shed  a  tear. 

There  was  such  a  solemn  stillness  round  the  bed,  and  the 
Doctor  seemed  to  look  on  the  impassive  form  with  so  much  com- 
passion and  so  little  hope,  that  Mrs.  Chick  was  for  a  moment  di- 
verted from  her  purpose.  But  presently  summoning  courage,  and 
what  she  called  presence  of  mind,  she  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and 
said,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  endeavors  to  awaken  a  sleeper, — 

"  Fanny !  Fanny !  " 

There  was  no  sound  in  answer  but  the  loud  ticking  of  Mr. 
Dombey's  watch  and  the  Doctor's  watch,  which  seemed  in  the 
silence  to  be  running  a  race. 

"  Fanny,  my  dear,  here  's  Mr.  Dombey  come  to  see  you.  Won't 
you  speak  to  him  ?  They  want  you  to  lay  your  little  boy  in  bed, — 
the  baby,  Fanny,  you  know;  you  have  hardly  seen  him  yet,  I 
think, —  but  they  can't  till  you  rouse  yourself  a  little.  Do  n't  you 
think  it's  time  you  roused  yourself  a  little?    Eh?" 

No  word  or  sound  in  answer.  Mr.  Dombey's  watch  and 
the  Doctor's  watch  seemed  to  be  racing  faster. 

"  Now  really,  Fanny  my  dear,  I  shall  have  to  be  quite  cross 
with  you  if  you  do  n't  rouse  yourself.  It 's  necessary  for  you  to 
make  an  effort,  and  perhaps  a  very  great  and  painful  effort,  which 
you  are  not  disposed  to  make;  but  this  is  a  world  of  effort,  you 
know,  Fanny,  and  we  must  never  yield  when  so  much  depends 
upon  us.  Come!  Try!  I  must  really  scold  you  if  you  don't. 
Fanny!  Only  look  at  me;  only  open  your  eyes  to  show  me  that 
you  hear  and  understand  me ;  will  you  ?  Good  Heaven,  gentlemen, 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

The  physician,  stooping  down,  whispered  in  the  little  girl's 
ear.  Not  having  understood  the  purport  of  his  whisper,  the  little 
creature  turned  her  deep,  dark  eyes  towards  him. 

The  whisper  was  repeated. 

"Mamma!" 

The  little  voice,  familiar  and  dearly  loved,   awakened  some 


li NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  111 

show  of  consciousness,  even  at  that  ebb.  For  a  moment,  the  closed 
eyelids  trembled,  and  the  nostril  quivered,  and  the  faintest  shadow 
of  a  smile  was  seen. 

*'  Mamma!   O  dear  mamma!   O  dear  mamma!  " 
The  Doctor  gently  brushed  the  scattered  ringlets  of  the  child 
aside  from  the  face  and  mouth  of  the  mother.    And  thus,  clinging 
fast  to  that  frail  spar  within  her  arms,  the  mother  drifted  out  upon 
the  dark  and  unknown  sea  that  rolls  round  all  the  world. 

—  Charles  Dickens, 


SCENE  AT  DOCTOR  BLIMBER^S 

At  length  Mr.  Dombey,  one  Saturday,  when  he  came  down  to 
Brighton  to  see  Paul,  who  w^as  then  six  years  old,  resolved  to  make 
a  change,  and  enroll  him  as  a  small  student  under  Doctor  Blimber. 

Whenever  a  young  man  was  taken  in  hand  by  Doctor  Blim- 
ber, he  might  consider  himself  sure  of  a  pretty  tight  squeeze.  The 
Doctor  only  undertook  the  charge  of  ten  young  gentlemen,  but  he 
had  always  ready  a  supply  of  learning  for  a  hundred,  and  it  was  at 
once  the  business  and  delight  of  his  life  to  gorge  the  unhappy  ten 
with  it. 

In  fact  Doctor  Blimber's  establishment  was  a  great  hothouse, 
in  which  there  was  a  forcing  apparatus  incessantly  at  work.  All 
the  boys  blew  before  their  time.  Mental  green  peas  were  produced 
at  Christmas,  and  intellectual  asparagus  all  the  year  round.  No 
matter  what  a  young  gentleman  was  intended  to  bear,  Doctor 
Blimber  made  him  bear  to  pattern,  somehow  or  other. 

This  was  all  very  pleasant  and  ingenious,  but  the  system  of 
forcing  was  attended  with  its  usual  disadvantages.  There  was  not 
the  right  taste  about  the  premature  productions ;  and  they  did  n*t 
keep  well.  Moreover,  one  young  gentleman,  with  a  swollen  nose 
and  an  excessively  large  head  (the  oldest  of  the  ten  who  had 
"gone  through"  everything),  suddenly  left  off  blowing  one  day, 
and  remained  in  the  establishment  a  mere  stalk.  And  people  did 
say  that  the  Doctor  had  rather  overdone  it  with  young  Toots, 
and  that  when  he  began  to  have  whiskers  he  left  off  having  brains. 

The  Doctor  was  a  portly  gentleman  in  a  suit  of  black,  with 
strings  at  his  knees,  and  stockings  below  them.  He  had  a  bald 
head,  highly  polished;  a  deep  voice;  and  a  chin  so  very  double, 
that  It  was  a  wonder  how  he  ever  managed  to  shive  into  the 
creases. 


112  CHOICE  READINGS 

His  daughter,  Miss  Blimber,  although  a  slim  and  graceful 
maid,  did  no  soft  violence  to  the  gravity  of  the  Doctor^s  house. 
There  was  no  light  nonsense  about  Miss  Blimber.  She  kept  her 
hair  short  and  crisp,  and  wore  spectacles,  and  she  was  dry  and 
sandy  with  working  in  the  graves  of  deceased  languages.  None 
of  your  live  languages  foi*  Miss  Blimber.  They  must  be  dead, — 
stone  dead, —  and  then  Miss  Blimber  dug  them  up  like  a  Ghoul. 
Mrs.  Blimber,  her  mamma,  was  not  learned  herself,  but  she  pre- 
tended to  be,  and  that  answered  just  as  well.  She  said  at  evening 
parties,  that,  if  she  could  have  known  Cicero,  she  thought  she 
could  have  died  contented. 

As  to  Mr.  Feeder,  B.  A.,  Doctor  Blimber's  assistant,  he  was  a 
kind  of  human  hand-organ,  with  a  little  list  of  tunes  at  which  he 
was  continually  working,  over  and  over  again,  without  any  vari- 
ation. 

To  Doctor  Blimber's  Paul  was  taken  by  his  father,  on  an  ap- 
pointed day.  The  Doctor  was  sitting  in  his  portentous  study,  with 
a  globe  at  each  knee,  books  all  around  him ;  Homer  over  the  door 
and  Minerva  on  the  mantel-shelf.  "And  how  do  you  do,  sir?" 
he  said  to  Mr.  Dombey,  "  and  how  is  my  little  friend?  "  When  the 
Doctor  left  off,  the  great  clock  in  the  hall  seemed  (to  Paul,  at 
least)  to  take  him  up,  and  to  go  on  saying  over  and  over  again, 
"  How,  is,  my  lit,tle,  friend;  how,  is,  my,  lit,tle,  friend?  " 

"  Mr.  Dombey,'*  said  Doctor  Blimber,  "  you  would  wish  my 
little  friend  to  acquire  —  " 

"  Everything,  if  you  please.  Doctor." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  who,  with  his  half-shut  eyes,  seemed  to 
survey  Paul  with  a  sort  of  interest  that  he  might  attach  to  some 
choice  little  animal  he  was  going  to  stuff, —  "yes,  exactly.  Ha! 
We  shall  impart  a  great  variety  of  information  to  our  little  friend, 
and  bring  him  quickly  forward,  I  dare  say.  Permit  me.  Allow  me 
to  present  Mrs.  Blimber  and  my  daughter  Cornelia,  who  will  be 
associated  with  the  domestic  life  of  our  young  Pilgrim  to  Par- 
nassus." 

•'  Now,  Dombey,"  said  Miss  Blimber,  "  I  'm  going  out  for  a 
constitutional." 

Paul  wondered  what  that  was,  and  why  she  did  n't  send  the 
footman  out  to  get  it  in  such  unfavorable  weather.  But  he  made 
no  observation  on  the  subject,  his  attention  being  devoted  to  a  little 
pile  of  new  books,  on  which  Miss  Blimber  appeared  to  have  been 
recently  engaged. 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  118 

"  These  are  yours,  Dombey.  I  am  going  out  for  a  constitu- 
tional, and  while  I  am  gone,  that  is  to  say  in  the  interval  between 
this  and  breakfast,  Dombey,  I  wish  you  to  read  over  what  I  have 
marked  in  these  books,  and  to  tell  me  if  you  quite  understand  what 
you  have  got  to  learn." 

They  comprised  a  little  English,  and  a  deal  of  Latin, —  names 
of  things,  declensions  of  articles  and  substantives,  exercises  thereon, 
and  rules, —  a  trifle  of  orthography,  a  glance  at  ancient  history,  a 
wink  or  two  at  modern  ditto,  a  few  tables,  two  or  three  weights 
and  measures,  and  a  little  general  information.  When  poor  little 
Dombey  had  spelt  out  number  two,  he  found  he  had  no  idea  of 
number  one;  fragments  of  which  afterwards  obtruded  themselves 
into  number  three,  which  slided  into  number  four,  which  grafted 
itself  onto  number  two.  So  that  is  was  an  open  question  with 
him  whether  twenty  Romuluses  made  a  Remus,  or  hie  haec  hoc  was 
troy  weight,  or  a  verb  always  agreed  with  an  ancient  Briton,  or 
three  times  four  was  Taurus,  a  bull. 

Such  spirits  as  little  Dombey  had  he  soon  lost,  of  course.  But 
he  retained  all  that  was  strange  and  old  and  thoughtful  in  his 
character;  and  even  became  more  strange  and  old  and  thoughtful. 
He  loved  to  be  alone,  and  liked  nothing  so  well  as  wandering  about 
the  house  by  himself,  or  sitting  on  the  stairs  listening  to  the  great 
clock  in  the  hall.  He  was  intimate  with  all  the  paper-hangings  in 
the  house ;  he  saw  things  that  no  one  else  saw  in  the  patterns ;  and 
found  out  miniature  tigers  and  lions  running  up  the  bedroom  walls. 

And  so  the  solitary  child  lived  on  and  on,  surrounded  by  the 
arabesque  work  of  his  musing  fancy,  and  still  no  one  understood 
him.  He  grew  fond,  now,  of  a  large  engraving  that  hung  upon 
the  staircase,  where,  in  the  center  of  the  group,  one  figure  that  he 
tnew  —  a  figure  with  a  light  about  its  head,  benignant,  mild,  mer- 
ciful —  stood  pointing  upward.  He  watched  the  waves  and  clouds 
at  twilight  with  his  earnest  eyes,  and  breasted  the  window  of  his 
solitary  room  when  birds  flew  by,  as  if  he  would  have  emulated 
them  and  soared  away. 

—  Charles  Dickens. 


DEATH  OF  PAUL  DOMBEY 

Little  Dombey  had  never  risen  from  his  little  bed.     He  lay 
there,  listening  to  the  noises  in  the  street,  quite  tranquilly;  not 


114  CHOICE  READINGS 

caring  much  how  the  time  went,  but  watching  it  and  watching 
everything. 

When  the  sunbeams  struck  into  his  room  through  the  rustling 
blinds,  and  quivered  on  the  opposite  wall,  like  golden  water,  he 
knew  that  evening  was  coming  on,  and  that  the  sky  was  red  and 
beautiful.  As  the  reflection  died  away,  and  a  gloom  went  creep- 
ing up  the  wall,  he  watched  it  deepen,  deepen,  deepen  into  night. 
Then  he  thought  how  the  long  unseen  streets  were  dotted  with 
lamps,  and  how  the  peaceful  stars  were  shining  overhead.  His 
fancy  had  a  strange  tendency  to  wander  to  the  river,  which  he 
knew  was  flowing  through  the  great  city;  and  now  he  thought 
how  black  it  was,  and  how  deep  it  would  look  reflecting  the  hosts 
of  stars;  and,  more  than  all,  how  steadily  it  rolled  away  to  meet 
the  sea. 

"Floy!     What  w  that?" 

"Where,  dearest?" 

"  There !  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed." 

"There's  nothing  there,  except  papa!" 

The  figure  lifted  up  its  head  and  rose,  and,  coming  to  the  bed- 
side, said : 

"  My  own  boy!    Do  n*t  you  know  me?  " 

Paul  looked  it  in  the  face.  Before  he  could  reach  out  both  his 
hands  to  take  it  between  them  and  draw  it  towards  him,  the  figure 
turned  away  quickly  from  the  little  bed,  and  went  out  at  the 
door. 

The  next  time  he  observed  the  figure  sitting  at  the  bottom  of 
the  bed,  he  called  to  it. 

"  Do  n't  be  so  sorry  for  me,  dear  papa.  Indeed,  I  am  quite 
happy! " 

His  father  coming  and  bending  down  to  him,  he  held  him 
round  the  neck,  and  repeated  these  words  to  him  several  times, 
and  very  earnestly;  and  he  never  saw  his  father  in  his  room  again 
at  any  time,  whether  it  were  day  or  night,  but  he  called  out, 
"  Do  n't  be  so  sorry  for  me!    Indeed,  I  am  quite  happy!  " 

How  many  times  the  golden  water  danced  upon  the  wall,  how 
many  nights  the  dark  river  rolled  towards  the  sea  in  spite  of  him, 
Paul  never  sought  to  know. 

One  night  he  had  been  thinking  of  his  mother  and  her  picture 
in  the  drawing-room  downstairs.  The  train  of  thought  suggested 
to  him  to  inauire  if  he  had  ever  seen  his  mother.     Fca:  he  could 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC   115 

not  remember  whether  they  had  told  him,  yes  or  no;  the  river 
running  very  fast,  and  confusing  his  mind. 

*'  Floy,  did  I  ever  see  mamma?'* 

"No,  darling;  why?" 

*'  Did  I  never  see  any  kind  face,  like  a  mamma's,  looking  at  mc 
when  I  was  a  baby,  Floy?" 

"O  yes,  dear!" 

"Whose,  Floy?" 

"  Your  old  nurse's.     Often." 

"And  where  is  my  old  nurse?  Show  me  that  old  nurse,  Floy, 
if  you  please!  " 

"  She  is  not  here,  darling.    She  shall  come  to-morrow." 

"Thank  you,  Floy!" 

Little  Dombey  closed  his  eyes  with  these  words,  and  fell 
asleep.  When  he  awoke,  the  sun  was  high,  and  the  broad  day 
was  clear  and  warm.  Then  he  awoke, —  woke  mind  and  body, — 
and  sat  upright  in  his  bed.  He  saw  them  now  about  him.  There 
was  no  great  mist  before  them,  as  there  had  been  sometimes  in  the 
night.    He  knew  them  every  one,  and  called  them  by  their  names. 

"And  who  is  this?  Is  this  my  old  nurse?"  asked  the  child, 
regarding,  with  a  radiant  smile,  a  figure  coming  in. 

Yes,  yes.  No  other  stranger  would  have  shed  those  tears  at 
sight  of  him,  and  called  him  her  dear  boy,  her  pretty  boy,  her  own 
poor  blighted  child.  No  other  woman  would  have  stooped  down  by 
his  bed,  and  taken  up  his  wasted  hand,  and  put  it  to  her  lips  and 
breast,  as  one  who  had  some  right  to  fondle  it.  No  other  woman 
would  have  so  forgotten  everybody  there  but  him  and  Floy,  and 
been  so  full  of  tenderness  and  pity. 

"  Floy!  this  is  a  kind,  good  face!  I  am  glad  to  see  it  again. 
Don't  go  away,  old  nurse.     Stay  here!     Good  by!" 

"  Good  by,  my  child  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Pipchin,  hurrying  to  his 
bed's  head.     "  Not  good  by?  " 

"  Ah,  yes !     Good  by !  —  Where  is  papa?  " 

His  father's  breath  was  on  his  cheek  before  the  words  had 
parted  from  his  lips.  The  feeble  hand  waved  in  the  air,  as  if  it 
cried,  "  Good  by!  "  again. 

"  Now  lay  me  down ;  and,  Floy,  come  close  to  me,  and  let  mc 
see  you." 

Sister  and  brother  wound  their  arms  around  each  other,  and 
the  golden  light  came  streaming  in,  and  fell  upon  them,  locked 
together. 


rji6  CHOICE  READINGS 

*'  How  fast  the  river  runs,  between  Its  green  banks  and  the 
rushes,  Floy !  But,  it 's  very  near  the  sea  now.  I  hear  the  waves ! 
They  always  said  so !  " 

Presently  he  told  her  that  the  motion  of  the  boat  upon  stream 
was  lulling  him  to  rest.  Now  the  boat  was  out  at  sea.  And  now 
there  was  a  shore  before  him.    Who  stood  on  the  bank !  — 

"  Mamma  is  like  you,  Floy.    I  know  her  by  the  face !  " 

The  golden  ripple  on  the  wall  came  back  again,  and  nothing 
else  stirred  in  the  room.  The  old,  old  fashion!  The  fashion  that 
came  in  with  our  first  garments,  and  will  last  unchanged  until  our 
race  has  run  its  course,  and  the  wide  firmament  is  rolled  up  like 
a  scroll.    The  old,  old  fashion, —  Death ! 

O,  thank  God,  all  who  see  it,  for  that  older  fashion  yet,  of 
immortality!  And  look  upon  us,  Angels  of  young  children,  with 
regards  not  quite  estranged,  when  the  swift  river  bears  us  to  the 
ocean !  —  Charles  Dickens, 

THE  CHARCOAL  MAN 

Though  rudely  blows  the  wintry  blast, 
And  sifting  snows  fall  white  and  fast, 
Mark  Haley  drives  along  the  street. 
Perched  high  upon  his  wagon  seat; 
His  somber  face  the  storm  defies, 
And  thus  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries, — 

"Charco'!  charco'!" 
While  echo  faint  and  far  replies, — 

"Hark,  O!  hark,  O!" 
"  Charco'  1  "  —  "  Hark,  O !  "  —  Such  cheery  sounds 
Attend  him  on  his  daily  rounds. 

The  dust  begrimes  his  ancient  hat  ; 

His  coat  is  darker  far  than  that; 

'T  is  odd  to  see  his  sooty  form 

All  speckled  with  the  feathery  storm ; 

Yet  in  his  honest  bosom  lies 

Nor  spot  nor  speck, —  though  still  he  cries, — 

"CharcoM  charcoM  " 
And  many  a  roguish  lad  replies, — 

"Ark,  ho!  ark,  ho!" 
"  Charco* !  " — "  Ark,  ho !  " —  Such  various  sounds 
Announce  Mark  Haley's  morning  rounds. 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC   117 

Thus  all  the  cold  and  wintry  day 
He  labors  much  for  little  pay; 
Yet  feels  no  less  of  happiness 
Than  many  a  richer  man,  I  guess, 
When  through  the  shades  of  eve  iie  spies 
The  light  of  his  own  home,  and  cries, — 

"CharcoM  charco'!" 
And  Martha  from  the  door  replies, — 

*^Mark,  ho!   Mark,  ho!" 
"  CharcoM  ''—''  Mark,  ho! ''—  Such  joy  abounds 
When  he  has  closed  his  daily  rounds. 

The  hearth  is  warm,  the  fire  is  bright; 

And  while  his  hand,  washed  clean  and  white, 

Holds  Martha's  tender  hand  once  more, 

His  glowing  face  bends  fondly  o'er 

The  crib  wherein  his  darling  lies. 

And  in  a  coaxing  tone  he  cries, 

"CharcoM  charco'!" 
And  baby  with  a  laugh  replies, — 

"Ah,  go!  ah,  go!" 
'^Charco'!"— '^Ah,  go!"— while  at  the  sounds 
The  mother's  heart  with  gladness  bounds. 

Then  honored  be  the  charcoal  man! 
Though  dusty  as  an  African, 
'T  is  not  for  you,  that  chance  to  be 
A  little  better  clad  than  he, 
His  honest  manhood  to  despise, 
Although  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries, — 
'       "Charco'!  charco'!" 
While  mocking  echo  still  replies, — 

"Hark,  O!  hark,  O!" 
"  Charco'!  "— "  Hark,  O!  "—  Long  may  the  sounds 
Proclaim  Mark  Haley's  daily  rounds! 

- — /.  T,  Trowbridge, 


DICK  SWIVELLER  AND  THE  MARCHIONESS 

One  circumstance  troubled  Mr.  Swiveller's  mind  very  much, 
tind  that  was  that  the  small  servant  always  remained  somewhere 


118*  CHOICE  READINGS 

In  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  never  came  to  the  surface  unless 
the  single  gentleman  rang  his  bell,  when  she  would  answer  it  and 
immediately  disappear  again.  She  never  went  out,  or  came  into 
the  office,  or  had  a  clean  face,  or  took  off  the  coarse  apron,  or 
looked  out  of  any  one  of  the  windows,  or  stood  at  the  street  door 
for  a  breath  of  air,  or  had  any  rest,  or  enjoyment  whatever.  No- 
body ever  came  to  see  her,  nobody  spoke  of  her,  nobody  cared 
about  her. 

*'  Now,"  said  Dick,  walking  up  and  down  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  "I'd  give  something  —  if  I  had  it  —  to  know  how 
they  use  that  child,  and  where  they  keep  her.  My  mother  must 
have  been  a  very  inquisitive  woman ;  I  have  no  doubt  I  'm  marked 
with  a  note  of  interrogation  somewhere  —  upon  my  word,  I 
should  like  to  know  how  they  use  her !  '* 

After  running  on,  in  this  way,  for  some  time,  Mr.  Swiveller 
softly  opened  the  office  door,  with  the  intention  of  darting  across 
the  street  for  a  glass  of  the  mild  porter.  At  that  moment  he 
caught  a  parting  glimpse  of  the  brown  head-dress  of  Miss  Brass 
flitting  down  the  kitchen  stairs.  "And  by  Jove!  "  thought  Dick, 
"  she  's  going  to  feed  the  small  servant.    Now  or  never !  " 

First  peeping  over  the  hand-rail  and  allowing  the  head-dress 
to  disappear  in  the  darkness  below,  he  groped  his  way  down,  and 
arrived  at  the  door  of  a  back  kitchen  immediately  after  Miss  Brass 
had  entered  the  same,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  cold  leg  of  mutton.  It 
was  a  very  dark,  miserable  place,  very  low  and  very  damp:  the 
walls  disfigured  by  a  thousand  rents  and  blotches.  The  water  was 
trickling  out  of  a  leaky  butt,  and  a  most  wretched  cat  was  lapping 
up  the  drops  with  the  sickly  eagerness  of  starvation.  Everything 
was  locked  up;  the  coal-cellar,  the  candle-box,  the  salt-box,  the 
meat-safe,  were  all  padlocked.  There  was  nothing  that  a  beetle 
could  have  lunched  upon.  The  pinched  and  meager  aspect  of  the 
place  would  have  killed  a  chameleon :  he  would  have  known,  at  the 
first  mouthful,  that  the  air  was  not  eatable,  and  must  have  given 
up  the  ghost  in  despair. 

While  these  acts  and  deeds  were  in  progress  in  and  out  of  the 
office  of  Sampson  Brass,  Richard  Swiveller,  being  often  left  alone 
therein,  began  to  find  the  time  hang  heavy  on  his  hands.  For 
the  better  preservation  of  his  cheerfulness,  therefore,  and  to  pre- 
vent his  faculties  from  rusting,  he  provided  himself  with  a  crib- 
bage-board  and  pack  of  cards,  and  accustomed  himself  to  olay  at 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  119 

cribbage  with  a  dummy,  for  twenty,  thirty,  or  sometimes  even 
fifty  thousand  pounds  a  side,  besides  many  other  hazardous  bets 
to  a  considerable  amount. 

As  these  games  were  very  silently  conducted,  notwithstanding 
the  magnitude  of  the  interest  involved,  Mr.  Swiveller  began  to 
think  that  on  those  evenings  when  Mr.  and  Miss  Brass  were  out 
(and  they  often  went  out  now)  he  heard  a  kind  of  snorting  or 
hard-breathing  sound  in  the  direction  of  the  door,  which,  it  oc- 
curred to  him,  after  some  reflection,  must  proceed  from  the  small 
servant,  who  always  had  a  cold  from  damp  living.  Looking  in- 
tently that  way  one  night,  he  plainly  distinguished  an  eye  gleam- 
ing and  glistening  at  the  keyhole;  and  having  now  no  doubt  that 
his  suspicions  were  correct,  he  stole  softly  to  the  door,  and  pounced 
upon  her  before  she  was  aware  of  his  approach. 

"  Oh !  I  did  n't  mean  any  harm  indeed,  upon  my  word  I  did  n't, 
It 's  so  very  dull  downstairs.  Please  do  n't  tell  upon  me,  please 
don't." 

"  Tell  upon  you !  "  said  Dick.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are 
looking  through  the  keyhole  for  company?" 

"  Yes,  upon  my  word  I  was." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  cooling  your  eye  there?  " 

"  Oh,  ever  since  you  first  began  to  play  them  cards,  and  long 
before." 

"  Well, —  come  in.  Here,  sit  down,  and  I  '11  teach  you  how 
to  play." 

"Oh!  I  durst  n't  do  it.  Miss  Sally  'ud  kill  me,  if  she  know'd 
I  come  up  here." 

"  Have  you  got  a  fire  downstairs  ?  " 

"  A  very  little  one." 

"  Miss  Sally  could  n't  kill  me  if  she  know'd  I  went  down 
there,  so  I  '11  come,"  said  Richard,  putting  the  cards  in  his  pocket. 
"  Why,  how  thin  you  are !    What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  my  fault." 

"  Could  you  eat  any  bread  and  meat?  "  said  Dick,  taking  down 
his  hat.    "  Yes?  Ah!   I  thought  so.    Did  you  ever  taste  beer?  " 

"  I  had  a  sip  of  it  once." 

"Here's  a  state  of  things!"  cried  Mr.  Swiveller,  raising  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "  She  never  tasted  it  —  it  can't  be  tasted  in  a 
s»p !    Why,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 


120  CHOICE  READINGS 

Mr.  Swivcller  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  appeared  thought- 
ful for  a  moment;  then,  bidding  the  child  mind  the  door  until  he 
came  back,  vanished  straightway. 

Presently  he  returned,  followed  by  the  boy  from  the  public- 
house,  who  bore  in  one  hand  a  plate  of  bread  and  beef,  and  in  the 
other  a  great  pot,  filled  with  some  very  fragrant  compound, 
which  sent  forth  a  grateful  steam,  and  was  indeed  choice  purl, 
made  after  a  particular  recipe  which  Mr.  Swlveller  had  im- 
parted to  the  landlord,  at  a  period  when  he  was  deep  in  his  books 
and  desirous  to  conciliate  his  friendship.  Relieving  the  boy  of 
his  burden  at  the  door,  and  charging  his  little  companion  to  fas- 
ten it  to  prevent  surprise,  Mr.  Swiveller  followed  her  into  the 
kitchen. 

"  There!  "  said  Richard,  putting  the  plate  before  her.  *'  First 
of  all  clear  that  off,  and  then  you  '11  see  what  *s  next." 

The  small  servant  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  the  plate 
was  soon  empty. 

"Next,"  said  Dick,  handing  the  purl,  "take  a  pull  at  that; 
but  moderate  your  transports,  you  know,  for  you  're  not  used*  to 
it.    Well,  is  it  good?" 

"  Oh!  is  n't  it?  "  said  the  small  servant. 

Mr.  Swiveller  appeared  gratified  beyond  all  expression  by  this 
reply,  and  took  a  long  draught  himself.  These  preliminaries 
disposed  of,  he  applied  himself  to  teaching  her  the  game,  which 
she  soon  learnt  tolerably  well,  being  both  sharp-witted  and  cun- 
ning. 

Mr.  Swiveller  and  his  partner  played  several  rubbers  with 
varying  success,  until  the  loss  of  three  sixpences,  the  gradual  sink- 
ing of  the  purl,  and  the  striking  of  ten  o'clock,  combined  to  ren- 
der that  gentleman  mindful  of  the  flight  of  time,  and  the  expe- 
diency of  withdrawing  before  Mr.  Sampson  and  Miss  Sally  Brass 
returned. 

'*  With  which  object  in  view,  Marchioness,"  said  Mr.  Swivel- 
ler gravely,  "  I  shall  ask  your  ladyship's  permission  to  put  the 
board  in  my  pocket,  and  to  retire  from  the  presence  when  I  have 
finished  this  tankard;  merely  observing,  Marchioness,  that  since 
life,  like  a  river,  is  flowing,  I  care  not  how  fast  it  rolls  on,  ma'am, 
on,  while  such  purl  on  the  bank  still  is  growing,  and  such  eyes 
light  the  waves  as  they  run.  Marchioness,  your  health.  You 
will  excuse  ray  wearing  my  hat,  for  the  palace  is  damp,  and  the 
marble  floor  is  —  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression  —  sloppy." 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  121 

He  gave  utterance  to  these  apologetic  observations,  and  slowly 
sipped  the  last  choice  drops  of  nectar. 

"  The  Baron  Sampsono  Brasso  and  his  fair  sister  are  (you  tell 
me)  at  the  Play?"  said  Mr.  Sv^iveller,  leaning  his  left  arm 
heavily  upon  the  table,  and  raising  his  voice  and  his  right  leg 
after  the  manner  of  a  theatrical  bandit. 

The  Marchioness  nodded. 

"  Ha!  "  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  vi^ith  a  portentous  frown.  "  'T  is 
-'/ell,  Marchioness!  —  but  no  matter.  Some  wine  there.  Ho!" 
-le  illustrated  these  melodramatic  morsels,  by  handing  the  tank- 
ard to  himself  with  great  humility,  receiving  it  haughtily,  drink- 
ing from  it  thirstily,  and  smacking  his  lips  fiercely. 

The  small  servant,  who  was  not  so  v^^ell  acquainted  with 
theatrical  conventionalities  as  Mr.  Swiveller  (having  indeed 
never  seen  a  play,  or  heard  one  spoken  of,  except  by  chance 
through  chinks  of  doors  and  in  other  forbidden  places),  was 
rather  alarmed  by  demonstrations  so  novel  in  their  nature,  and 
showed  her  concern  so  plainly  in  her  looks,  that  Mr.  Swiveller 
felt  it  necessary  to  discharge  his  brigand  manner,  for  one  more  suit- 
able to  private  life,  as  he  asked,  **  Do  they  often  go  where  glory 
waits  'em,  and  leave  you  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  believe  you  they  do.  Miss  Sally  's  such  a  one-er 
for  that,  she  is." 

"Such  a  what?"  said  Dick. 

"  Such  a  one-er,"  returned  the  Marchioness. 

"  Is  Mr.  Brass  a  wunner?  " 

"Not  half  what  Miss  Sally  is,  he  isn't.  Bless  you,  he'd 
never  do  anything  without  her." 

"  Oh!     He  would  n't,  would  n't  he?  " 

"Miss  Sally  keeps  him  in  such  order.  He  always  asks  her 
advice,  he  does ;  and  he  catches  it  sometimes.  Bless  you,  you 
would  n't  believe  how  much  he  catches  it." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Dick,  "  that  they  consult  together,  a  good 
deal,  and  talk  about  a  great  many  people  —  about  me,  for  in- 
stance, sometimes,  eh,  Marchioness?" 

The  Marchioness  nodded  amazingly. 

"Complimentary?"  said  Mr.  Swiveller. 

The  Marchioness  changed  the  motion  of  her  head,  which  had 
not  yet  left  off  nodding,  and  suddenly  began  to  shake  it  from  side 
to  side,  with  a  vehemence  which  threatened  to  dislocate  her  neck. 


^  122  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Humph ;  '*  Dick  muttered.  "  Would  it  be  any  breach  of  con- 
fidence, Marchioness,  to  relate  what  they  say  of  the  humble  in- 
dividual who  has  now  the  honor  to  —  ?  " 

"  Miss  Sally  says  you  're  a  funny  chap,"  replied  his  friend. 

"Well,  Marchioness,"  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  "that's  not  un- 
complimentary. Merriment,  Marchioness,  is  not  a  bad  or  degrad- 
ing quality.  Old  King  Cole  was  himself  a  merry  old  soul,  if  we 
may  put  any  faith  in  the  pages  of  history." 

"  But  she  says  that  you  ain't  to  be  trusted." 

"Why,  really.  Marchioness,"  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  thought- 
fully; "several  ladies  and  gentlemen  —  not  exactly  professional 
persons,  but  tradespeople,  ma'am,  tradespeople  —  have  made  the 
same  remark.  The  obscure  citizen  who  keeps  the  hotel  over  the 
way,  inclined  strongly  to  that  opinion  to-night  when  I  ordered 
him  to  prepare  the  banquet.  It 's  a  popular  prejudice,  Mar- 
chioness; and  yet  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why,  for  I  have  been 
trusted  in  my  time  to  a  considerable  amount,  and  I  can  safely 
say  that  I  never  forsook  my  trust  until  it  deserted  me  —  never. 
Mr.  Brass  is  of  the  same  opinion,  I  suppose?  " 

His  friend  nodded  again,  with  a  cunning  look  which  seemed 
to  hint  that  Mr.  Brass  held  stronger  opim'ons  on  the  subject  than 
his  sister;  and  seeming  to  recollect  herself,  added  imploringly, 
"  But  do  n't  you  ever  tell  upon  me,  or  I  shall  be  beat  to  death." 

"  Marchioness,"  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  rising,  "  the  word  of  a 
gentleman  is  as  good  as  his  bond  —  sometimes  better,  as  in  the 
present  case,  where  his  bond  might  prove  a  doubtful  sort  of  secur- 
ity. I  am  your  friend,  and  I  hope  we  shall  play  many  more  rub- 
bers together  in  this  same  saloon.  But,  Marchioness,"  added 
Richard,  stopping  in  his  way  to  the  door,  and  wheeling  slowly 
round  upon  the  small  servant,  who  was  following  with  the  candle ; 
"  it  occurs  to  me  that  you  must  be  in  the  constant  habit  of  airing 
youT  eye  at  keyholes,  to  know  all  this." 

"  I  only  wanted,"  replied  the  trembling  Marchioness,  "  to 
know  where  the  key  of  the  safe  was  hid;  that  was  all;  and  I 
would  n't  have  taken  much,  if  I  had  found  it  —  only  enough  to 
squench  my  hunger." 

"  You  did  n't  find  it  then?  "  said  Dick.  "  But  of  course  you 
did  n't,  or  you'd  be  plumper.  Good  night.  Marchioness.  Fare 
thee  well  —  and  if  for  ever,  then  for  ever,  fare  thee  well." 

—  Charles  Dickens* 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  128^ 


TULKINGHORN,   THE   LAWYER,   AND    MADEMOI- 
SELLE  HORTENSE 

Mr.  Tulkinghorn,  the  Lawyer,  smoke-dried  and  faded,  dwell- 
ing among  mankind,  but  not  consorting  with  them,  aged  without 
experience  of  genial  youth,  and  so  long  used  to  make  his  cramped 
nest  in  holes  and  corners  of  human  nature  that  he  had  forgotten  its 
broader  and  better  range,  ^omes  sauntering  home. 

The  lamplighter  is  skipping  up  and  down  his  ladder  on  Mr. 
Tulkinghorn's  side  of  the  fields,  when  that  high  priest  of  noble 
mysteries  arrives  at  his  own  dull  court-yard.  \  He  ascends  the 
door-steps,  unlocks  his  door,  gropes  his  way  into'  his  murky  rooms, 
lights  his  candles,  and  looks  about  him.  He  then  takes  a  small 
key  from  his  pocket,  unlocks  a  drawer  in  which  there  is  another 
key,  which  unlocks  a  chest  in  which  there  is  another,  and  so  comes 
to  the  cellar  key,  with  which  he  prepares  to  descend  to  the  regions 
of  old  wine.  He  is  going  toward  the  door  with  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  when  a  knock  comes. 

"Who's  this?  —  Ay,  ay.  Mistress,  it's  you,  is  it?  You  ap- 
pear at  a  good  time.  I  have  just  been  hearing  of  you.  Now! 
What  do  you  want  ?  " 

He  stands  the  candle  on  the  chimney-piece,  in  the  clerk's 
hall,  and  taps  his  dry  cheek  with  the  key,  as  he  addresses  these 
words  of  welcome  to  Mademoiselle  Hortense.  That  feline  per- 
sonage, with  her  lips  tightly  shut,  and  her  eyes  looking  out  at  him 
ftideways,  softly  closes  the  door  before  replying. 

"  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  find  you,  sir." 

''Have  your' 

"  I  have  been  here  very  often,  sir.  It  has  always  been  said  to 
me,  he  is  not  at  home,  he  is  engage,  he  is  this,  he  is  that,  he  is 
not  for  you." 

"  Quite  right,  and  quite  true." 

"Not  true.     Lies!" 

"Now,  Mistress,"  says  the  lawyer,  tapping  the  key  hastily 
upon  the  chimney-piece,  "if  you  have  anything  to  say,  say  it, 
say  it." 

"  Sir,  you  have  not  use  me  well.    You  have  been  mean  and 

shabby."  ^^.       ^. 

"Mean  and  shabby,  eh?"  returns  the  lawyer,  rubbing  his 

nose  with  the  key. 


124  CHOICE  READINGS 

"Yes.  What  IS  It  that  I  tell  you?  Ycu  know  you  have.  You 
have  attraped  me  —  catched  me  —  to  give  you  information;  you 
have  asked  me  to  show  you  the  dress  of  mine  my  lady  must  have 
worn  that  night;  you  have  prayed  me  to  come  in  it  here  to  meet 
that  boy  —  Say!    Is  it  not?" 

"  You  are  a  vixen,  a  vixen !  —  Well  wench,  well.    I  paid  you.'* 

"  You  paid  me !  Two  sovereign !  I  have  not  change  them, 
I  re-fuse  them,  I  de-spise  them,  I  throw  them  from  me!  Now! 
You  have  paid  me?     Eh,  my  God,  O  yes!  " 

Mr.  Tulkinghorn  rubs  his  head  with  the  key,  while  she  enter- 
tains herself  with  a  sarcastic  laugh. 

"  You  must  be  rich,  my  fair  friend,  to  throw  money  about  in 
that  way !  " 

"  I  am  rich ;  I  am  very  rich  in  hate.  I  hate  my  lady,  of  all 
my  heart.    You  know  that." 

"  Know  it?    How  should  I  know  it?  " 

"  Because  you  have  known  it  perfectly,  before  you  prayed 
me  to  give  you  that  information.  Because  you  have  known  per- 
fectly that  I  was  en-r-r-r- raged !  " 

"Oh!   I  knew  that,  did  I?" 

"  Yes,  without  doubt.  I  am  not  blind.  You  have  made 
sure  of  me  because  you  knew  that.  You  had  reason!  I  det-est 
her." 

"  Having  said  this,  have  you  anything  else  to  say.  Made- 
moiselle ?  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  placed.  Place  me  well.  Find  me  a  good  con- 
dition! H  you  cannot,  or  do  not  choose  to  do  that,  employ  me  to 
pursue  her,  to  chase  her,  to  disgrace  and  to  dishonor  her.  I  will 
help  you  well,  and  with  a  good  will.  It  is  what  you  do.  Do  I 
not  know  that?" 

"  You  appear  to  know  a  good  deal." 

"  Do  I  not?  Is  it  that  I  am  so  weak  as  to  believe,  like  a 
child,  that  I  come  here  in  that  dress  to  receive  that  boy,  only  to 
decide  a  little  bet,  a  wager?    Eh,  my  God,  O  yes!  " 

"  Now,  let  us  see  how  this  matter  stands." 

"Ah!     Let  us  see." 

"  You  come  here  to  make  a  remarkably  modest  demand,  which 
you  have  just  stated,  and  it  not  being  conceded,  you  will  come 
again." 

"And  again,  and  yet  again.  And  yet  again.  And  many 
times  again.     In  effect,  forever!" 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  125 

"  And  not  only  here,  but  you  will  go  to  Mr.  Snagsby's,  too, 
perhaps?  That  visit  not  succeeding  either,  you  will  go  again, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"And  again.  And  yet  again.  And  yet  again.  And  many 
times  again.     In  effect,  forever !  " 

**  Very  well.  Now,  Mademoiselle  Hortense,  let  me  recom- 
mend you  to  take  the  candle  and  pick  up  that  money  of  yours. 
I  think  you  will  find  it  behind  the  clerk's  partition  in  the  corner 
yonder.'* 

She  merely  throws  a  laugh  over  her  shoulder  and  stands  her 
ground  with  folded  arms. 

"You  will  not,  eh!" 

"No,  I  will  not!" 

"  So  much  the  poorer  you ;  so  much  the  richer  I !  Look,  Mis- 
tress, this  is  the  key  of  my  wine  cellar.  It  is  a  large  key,  but  the 
keys  of  prisons  are  larger.  In  this  city  there  are  houses  of  cor- 
rection (where  the  treadmills  are  for  women),  the  gates  of  which 
are  very  strong  and  heavy,  and  no  doubt  the  keys,  too.  I  am 
afraid  a  lady  of  your  spirit  and  activity  would  find  it  an  incon- 
venience to  have  one  of  those  keys  turned  upon  her  for  any 
length  of  time.    What  do  you  think?  " 

"  I  think  that  you  are  a  miserable  wretch." 

"  Probably,  but  I  do  n't  ask  what  you  think  of  myself.  I  ask 
what  you  think  of  the  prison." 

"  Nothing.    What  does  it  matter  to  me?  '* 

"  Why,  it  matters  this  much,  Mistress,  the  law  Is  so  despotic 
here,  that  It  Interferes  to  prevent  any  of  our  good  English  citi- 
zens from  being  troubled,  even  by  a  lady's  visits,  against  his  de- 
sire. And,  on  his  complaining  that  he  Is  so  troubled,  it  takes  hold 
of  the  troublesome  lady,  and  shuts  her  up  in  prison  under  hard 
discipline.  Turns  the  key  upon  her.  Mistress."  lUustraring  with 
the  cellar  key. 

"Truly!  that  is  droll!  But  —  my  faith!  —  still  what  does  it 
matter  to  me  ?  " 

"  My  fair  friend,  make  another  visit  here,  or  at  Mr.  Snags- 
by's,  and  you  shall  learn." 

"In  that  case  you  will  send  me  to  the  prison,  perhaps?"  ^ 

"  Perhaps. —  In  a  word.  Mistress,  I  am  sorry  to  be  impolite, 
but  if  you  ever  present  yourself  uninvited  here  —  or  there  —  again, 
I  will  give  you  over  to  the  police.    Their  gallantry  is  great,  but 


126  CHOICE  READINGS 

they  carry  troublesome  people  through  the  streets  in  an  ignominious 
manner;  strapped  down  on  a  board,  my  good  wench." 

**  I  will  prove  you,  I  will  try  if  you  dare  to  do  it !  " 
'    "And  if,"  pursues  the  lawyer,  without  minding  her,  "  I  place 
you  in  that  good  condition  of  being  locked  up  in  jail,  it  will  be 
some  time  before  you  find  yourself  at  liberty  again." 

"  I  will  prove  you." 

"And  now,"  proceeds  the  lawyer,  still  without  minding  her, 
"you  had  better  go.     Think  twice  before  you  come  here  again." 

"Think  you  twice  two  hundred  times!  " 

"  You  were  dismissed  by  your  lady,  you  know,"  Mr.  Tulking- 
horn  observes,  following  her  out  upon  the  staircase,  "  as  the  most 
implacable  and  unmanageable  of  women.  Now  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  and  take  warning  by  what  I  say  to  you.  For  what  I  say  I 
mean;  and  what  I  threaten,  I  will  do.  Mistress." 

"  Oh !  I  will  prove  you  —  you  miserable  wretch  —  I  will 
prove  you." 

When  she  is  gone,  he  goes  down  to  the  cellar,  and  returning 
with  his  cobweb-covered  bottle,  devotes  himself  to  a  leisurely  en- 
joyment of  its  contents.  ^,     ,       ^.  , 

—  Charles  Dickens. 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  REFORM  BILL 

Such  a  scene  as  the  division  of  last  Tuesday  I  never  saw,  and 
^ever  expect  to  see  again.  If  I  should  live  fifty  years,  the  impres- 
sion of  It  will  be  as  fresh  and  sharp  in  my  mind  as  if  it  had  just 
taken  place.  It  was  like  seeing  Caesar  stabbed  in  the  Senate- 
house,  or  seeing  Oliver  taking  the  mace  from  the  table;  a  sight 
to  be  seen  only  once,  and  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  crowd  overflowed  the  House  in  every  part.  When  the 
strangers  were  cleared  out  and  the  doors  locked,  we  had  six  hun- 
dred and  eighty  members  present  —  more  by  fifty-five  than  ever 
were  in  a  division  before. 

The  ayes  and  noes  were  like  two  volleys  of  cannon  from 
opposite  sides  of  a  field  of  battle. 

When  the  opposition  went  out  into  the  lobby,  an  operation 
which  took  up  twenty  minutes  or  more,  we  spread  ourselves  over 
the  benches  on  both  sides  of  the  House ;  for  there  were  many  of  us 
who  had  not  been  able  to  find  a  seat  during  the  evening.    When 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  127 

the  doors  were  shut  we  began  to  speculate  on  our  numbers. 
Everybody  was  desponding.  "We  have  lost  it.  We  are  only 
two  hundred  and  eighty  at  most.  I  do  not  think  we  are  two 
hundred  and  fifty.  They  are  three  hundred.  Alderman  Thomp. 
son  has  counted  them.  He  says  they  are  two  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine."  This  was  the  talk  on  our  benches.  I  wonder  that  men  who 
have  been  long  in  Parliament,  do  not  acquire  a  better  coup  d'ceil 
for  numbers.  The  House,  when  only  the  ayes  were  in  it,  looked  to 
me  a  very  fair  House,  much  fuller  than  it  generally  is  even  on 
debates  of  considerable  interest. 

I  had  no  hope,  however,  of  three  hundred.  As  the  tellers 
passed  along  our  lowest  row  on  the  left-hand  side,  the  interest 
was  insupportable  —  two  hundred  and  ninety-one  —  two  hundred 
and  ninety-two  —  we  were  all  standing  up  and  stretching  for- 
ward, telling  with  the  tellers. 

At  three  hundred  there  was  a  short  cry  of  joy  —  at  three  hun- 
dred and  two  another  —  suppressed,  however,  in  a  moment ;  for 
we  did  not  yet  know  what  the  hostile  force  might  be. 

We  knew,  however,  that  we  could  not  be  severely  beaten. 
The  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  in  they  came.  Each  of  them^ 
as  he  entered,  brought  some  different  report  of  their  numbers. 
It  must  have  been  impossible,  as  you  may  conceive,  in  the  lobby, 
crowded  as  they  were,  to  form  any  exact  estimate. 

First  we  heard  that  they  were  three  hundred  and  three;  then 
that  number  rose  to  three  hundred  and  ten;  then  went  down  to 
three  hundred  and  seven.  Alexander  Barry  told  me  that  he  had 
counted,  and  that  they  were  three  hundred  and  four.  We  were 
all  breathless  with  anxiety,  when  Charles  Wood,  who  stood  near 
the  door,  jumped  up  on  a  bench  and  cried  out,  "  They  are  only 
three  hundred  and  one."  We  set  up  a  shout  that  you  might  have 
heard  to  Charing  Cross,  waving  our  hats,  stamping  against  the 
floor,  and  clapping  our  hands.  The  tellers  scarcely  got  through  the 
crowd;  for  the  House  was  thronged  up  to  the  table,  and  all  the 
floor  was  fluctuating  with  heads  like  the  pit  of  a  theater.  But 
you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop  as  Duncannon  read  the  num- 
bers. Then  again  the  shouts  broke  out,  and  many  of  us  shed  tears. 
I  could  scarcely  refrain  —  and  the  jaw  of  Peel  fell ;  and  the  face 
of  Twiss  was  as  the  face  of  a  damned  soul ;  and  Herries  looked  like 
Judas  taking  his  necktie  off  for  the  last  operation. 

Wc  shook  hands  and  clapped  each  other  on  the  back,  and 


128  CHOICE  READINGS 

went  out  laughing,  crying,  and  huzzaing  into  the  lobby.  And 
no  sooner  were  the  outer  doors  opened  than  another  shout  an- 
swered chat  within  the  House.  All  the  passages  and  the  stairs 
into  the  waiting-rooms  were  thronged  by  people  who  had  waited 
till  four  in  the  morning  to  know  the  issue. 

We  passed  through  a  narrow  lane  between  two  thick  masses 
of  them;  and  all  the  way  down  they  were  shouting  and  waving 
their  hats,  till  we  got  into  the  open  air.  I  called  a  cabriolet,  and 
the  first  thing  the  driver  asked  was,  "  Is  the  bill  carried?" 

"  Yes,  by  one." 

"Thank  God  for  it,  sir!" 

And  away  I  rode  to  Gray's  Inn  —  and  so  ended  a  scene  which 
will  probably  never  be  equaled  till  the  reformed  Parliament  wants 
reforming;  and  that,  I  hope,  will  not  be  till  the  days  of  our 
grandchildren. 

—  Lord  Macaulay. 


INTERVIEW  BETWEEN  AARON  BURR  AND  MARY 

SCUDDER 

Mary  entered  the  room  where  Burr  was  seated,  and  wished 
him  good  morning,  in  a  serious  and  placid  manner,  in  which 
there  was  not  the  sUghtest  trace  of  embarrassment  or  discom- 
posure. 

**  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  fair  companion  this 
morning?"  said  Burr,  after  some  moments  of  indifferent  conver- 
sation. 

*'  No,  sir;  Madame  de  Frontignac  desires  me  to  excuse  her  to 
you." 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  "  said  Burr  with  a  look  of  concern. 

**  No,  Mr.  Burr,  she  prefers  not  to  see  you." 

Burr  gave  a  start  of  well-bred  surprise,  and  Mary  added, — 
"  Madame  de  Frontignac  has  made  me  familiar  with  the  history 
of  your  acquaintance  with  her,  and  you  will  therefore  under- 
stand what  I  mean,  Mr.  Burr,  when  I  say,  that,  during  the  time 
of  her  stay  with  us,  we  should  prefer  not  to  receive  calls  irom 
you." 

"Your  language,  Miss  Scudder,  has  certainly  the  merit  of 
explicitness." 

"I   intend   it  shall  have,  sir,"  said   Mary  tranquilly;  "half 


NARRATIVE,  DESCRIPTIVE,  AND  DIDACTIC  129 

the  misery  in  the  world  comes  of  want  of  courage  to  speak  and  to 
hear  the  truth  plainly  and  in  a  spirit  of  love." 

"I  am  gratified  that  you  add  the  last  clause,  Miss  Scudder; 
I  might  not  otherwise  recognize  the  gentle  being  whom  I  have 
always  regarded  as  the  impersonation  of  all  that  is  softest  in 
woman.  I  have  not  the  honor  of  understanding  in  the  least  the 
reason  of  this  apparently  capricious  sentence,  but  I  bow  to  it  in 
submission." 

"  Mr.  Burr,"  said  Mary,  walking  up  to  him,  and  looking  him 
full  in  the  eyes,  with  an  energy  that  for  the  moment  bore  down 
his  practiced  air  of  easy  superiority,  '*  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  for 
a  moment,  as  one  immortal  soul  should  to  another,  without  any  of 
those  false  glosses  and  deceits  which  men  call  ceremony  and  good 
manners.  You  have  done  a  very  great  injury  to  a  lovely  lady, 
whose  weakness  ought  to  have  been  sacred  in  your  eyes.  Precisely 
because  you  are  what  you  are, —  strong,  keen,  penetrating,  and  able 
to  control  and  govern  all  who  come  near  you, —  because  you  have 
the  power  to  make  yourself  agreeable,  interesting,  fascinating,  and 
to  win  esteem  and  love, —  just  for  that  reason  you  ought  to  hold 
yourself  the  guardian  of  every  woman,  and  treat  her  as  you  would 
wish  any  man  to  treat  your  own  daughter.  I  leave  it  to  your 
conscience,  whether  this  is  the  manner  in  which  you  have  treated 
Madame  de  Frontignac." 

"  Upon  my  word.  Miss  Scudder,"  began  Burr,  "  I  cannot 
imagine  what  representations  our  mutual  friend  may  have  been 
making.  I  assure  you  our  intercourse  has  been  as  irreproachable 
as  the  most  scrupulous  could  desire." 

"Irreproachable!  —  scrupulous!  —  Mr.  Burr,  you  know  that 
you  have  taken  the  very  life  out  of  her.  You  men  can  have 
everything, —  ambition,  wealth,  power;  a  thousand  ways  are 
open  to  you;  women  have  nothing  but  their  heart;  and  when  that 
is  gone,  all  is  gone.  Mr.  Burr,  you  remember  the  rich  man  who 
had  flocks  and  herds,  but  nothing  would  do  for  him  but  he  must 
have  the  one  little  ewe-lamb  which  was  all  his  poor  neighbor  had. 
Thou  art  the  man !  You  have  stolen  all  the  love  she  had  to  give,^ — 
all  that  she  had  to  make  a  happy  home;  and  you  can  never  give 
her  anything  in  return,  without  endangering  her  purity  and  her 
soul, —  and  you  knew  you  could  not.  I  know  you  men  think 
this  is  a  light  matter;  but  it  is  death  to  us.  What  will  this 
woman's  life  be?     One  long  struggle  to  forget;  and  when  you 


130  CHOICE  READINGS 

have  forgotten  her,  and  are  going  on  gay  and  happy, —  when  you 
have  thrown  her  very  name  away  as  a  faded  flower,  she  will  be 
praying,  hoping,  fearing  for  you;  though  all  men  deny  you,  yet 
will  not  she.  Yes,  Mr.  Burr,  if  ever  your  popularity  and  pros- 
perity should  leave  you,  and  those  who  now  flatter  should  de- 
spise and  curse  you,  she  will  always  be  interceding  with  her  own 
heart  and  with  God  for  you,  and  making  a  thousand  excuses 
where  she  cannot  deny;  and  if  you  die,  as  I  fear  you  have  lived,  un- 
reconciled to  the  God  of  your  fathers,  it  will  be  in  her  heart  to 
offer  up  her  very  soul  for  you,  and  to  pray  that  God  will  im- 
pute all  your  sins  to  her,  and  give  you  heaven.  O,  I  know  this, 
because  I  have  felt  it  in  my  own  heart!  "  and  Mary  threw  herself 
passionately  down  into  a  chair,  and  broke  into  an  agony  of  un- 
controlled sobbing. 

Burr  turned  away,  and  stood  looking  through  the  window; 
tears  were  dropping  silently,  unchecked  by  the  cold,  hard  pride 
which  was  the  evil  demon  of  his  life. 

In  a  few  moments  Mary  rose  with  renewed  calmness  and 
dignity,  and,  approaching  him,  said, —  "  Before  I  wish  you  good 
morning,  Mr.  Burr,  I  must  ask  pardon  for  the  liberty  I  have 
taken  in  speaking  so  very  plainly." 

"There  is  no  pardon  needed,  my  dear  child,"  said  Burr;  and 
turning,  he  bowed,  and  was  gone. 

—  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


GAYETY 

In  this  class  of  selections  the  same  suggestions  that  were  made 
on  the  subject  of  common  reading  are  pertinent  and  practical. 
However,  greater  variety  of  intonation,  a  quicker  movement,  and 
a  higher  pitch,  are  required.  Flexibility  of  voice  is  indispensable, 
so  that  the  slides  of  the  fifth  and  octave  may  be  easily  reached, 
while  the  voice  remains  free  from  strain  and  harshness. 

GAY  AND  ANIMATED  SELECTIONS 

THE  DAFFODILS 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, — 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  Milky  Way, 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay; 
Ten  thousand  saw  I,  at  a  glance. 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee; 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay 
In  such  a  jocund  company; 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought. 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie. 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills. 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

—  William  Wordsworth. 

131 


132  CHOICE  READINGS 

CUPID  SWALLOWED 
T'  other  day,  as  I  was  twining 
Roses  for  a  crown  to  dine  in, 
What,  of  all  things,  midst  the  heap, 
Should  I  light  on,  fast  asleep. 
But  the  little  desperate  elf, — 
The  tiny  traitor, —  Love  himself ! 
By  the  wings  I  pinched  him  up 
Like  a  bee,  and  in  a  cup 
Of  my  wine  I  plunged  and  sank  him; 
And  what  d*  ye  think  I  did?  —  I  drank  him! 
Faith,  I  thought  him  dead.     Not  he! 
There  he  lives  with  tenfold  glee; 
And  now  this  moment,  with  his  wings, 
I  feel  him  tickling  my  heart-strings. 

—  Leigh  Hunt. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 
O  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun! 
How  each  loved  the  other  one  — 
Full  of  fancy  —  full  of  folly  — 
Full  of  jollity  and  fun! 
How  they  romped  and  ran  about. 
Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 

With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 
Low  laugh,  and  lifted  shout! 

And  the  South  Wind  —  he  was  dressed 
With  a  ribbon  round  his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest; 
And  a  drapery  of  mist, 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward   with   the  motion 
Of  the  waving  hand  he  kissed. 

And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 
Wrought  of  gilded  thistle-down, 

And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor. 
And  a  raveled-rainbow  gown; 


GAYETY 

And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair, 
Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air, 

Was  glossier  and  flossier 
Than  any  anywhere. 

And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 
Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 

As  he  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  pursed  his  lips 
And  blew,  and  blew,  and  blew! 
And  the  Sun's  —  like  diamond-stone. 
Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 

As  he  knit  his  brows  and  held  his  breath, 
And  shone,  and  shone,  and  shone! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 
Wandered  through  the  summer  days; 

Arm  in  arm  they  went  together 
Over  heights  of  morning  haze  — 
Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn 
They  went  on,  and  on,  and  on, 

Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 
Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 

And  where'er  they  found  the  top 
Of  a  wheat-stalk  droop  and  lop, 

They  chucked  it  underneath  the  chin 
And  praised  the  lavish  crop, 
Till   it   lifted  with   the  pride 
Of  the  heads  it  grew  beside, 

And  then  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun 
Went  onward   satisfied. 

And  the  humming-bird,  that  hung 
Like  a  jewel  up  among 

The  tilted  honeysuckle-horns. 
They  mesmerized,  and  swung 
In  the  palpitating  air. 
Drowsed  with  odors  strange  and  rare. 

And,  with  whispered  laughter,  slipped  away 
And  left  him  hanging  there. 


138 


134  CHOICE  READINGS 

By  the  brook  with  mossy  brink, 
Where  the  cattle  came  to  drink, 

They  trilled,  and  piped,  and  whistled 
With  the  thrush  and  bobolink, 
Till  the  kine,  in  listless  pause. 
Switched  their  tails  in  mute  applause, 

With  lifted  head  and  dreamy  eyes, 
And  bubble-dripping  jaws. 

And  where  the  melons  grew. 

Streaked  with  yellow,  green,  and  blue, 

These  jolly  sprites  went  wandering 
Through  spangled  paths  of  dew. 
And  the  melons,  here  and  there, 
They  made  love  to,  everjrwhere, 

Turning  their  pink  souls  to  crimson 
With  caresses  fond  and  fair. 

Over  orchard  walls  they  went. 
Where  the  fruited  boughs  were  bent 

Till  they  brushed  the  sward  beneath  them 
Where  the  shine  and  shadow  blent; 
And  the  great  green  pear  they  shook 
Till  the  sallow  hue  forsook 

Its  features,   and   the   gleam  of   gold 
Laughed  out  in  every  look. 

And  they  stroked  the  downy  cheek 
Of  the  peach,  and  smoothed  it  sleek. 

And  flushed  it  into  splendor; 
And,  with  many  an  elfish  freak. 
Gave  the  russet's  rust  a  wipe  — 
Prankt  the  rambo  with  a  stripe. 

And  the  winesap  blushed  its  reddest 
As  they  spanked  the  pippins  ripe. 

And  the  golden-banded  bees, 
Droning  o'er  the  flowery  leas, 

They  bridled,  reined,  and  rode  away 
Across  the  fragrant  breeze. 


GAYETY  135 

Till  in  hollow  oak  and  elm 

They  had  groomed  and  stabled  them 

In  waxen  stalls  that  oozed  with  dews 
Of  rose  and  lily  stem. 

Where  the  dusty  highway  leads, 
High  above  the  wayside  weeds, 

They  sowed  the  air  with  butterflies 
Like    blooming   flower-seeds, 
Till  the  dull  grasshopper  sprung 
Half  a  man's  height  up,  and  hung 

Tranced  in  the  heat,  with  whirring  wings, 
And  sung,  and  sung,  and  sung! 

And  they  heard  the  killdee's  call, 
And  afar,  the  waterfall. 

But  the  rustle  of  a  falling  leaf 
They  heard  above  it  all; 
And  the  trailing  willow  crept 
Deeper  in  the  tide  that  swept 

The  leafy  shallop  to  the  shore. 
And  wept,  and  wept,  and  wept! 

And  the  fairy  vessel  veered 

From  its  moorings  —  tacked  and  steered 

For  the  center  of  the  current  — 
Sailed  away  and  disappeared: 
And  the  burthen  that  it  bore 
From  the  long-enchanted  shore  — 

"Alas!  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun!" 
I  murmur  evermore. 

For  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun,  •* 

Each  so  loves  the  other  one. 

For  all  his  jolly  folly. 
And  frivolity  and  fun. 
That  our  love  for  them  they  weigh 
As  their  fickle  fancies  may. 

And  when  at  last  we  love  them  most, 
^ey  laugh  and  sail  away. 

—  James  Whitcomb  Riley* 


136  CHOICE  READINGS 

SONG  OF  THE  BROOK 
I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 
To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges, 

I  Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways. 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles; 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river; 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 


/y 


GAYETY  137 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots; 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
^.  That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 


I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 

Among  my  skimming  swallows; 
I  make  the  netted  sunbeams  dance 

Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

—  hord  Tennyson, 


FEZZIWIG'S  BALL 

The  Ghost  stopped  at  a  certain  warehouse  door,  and  asked 
Scrooge  if  he  knew  it. 

"  Know  it !    Was  I  apprenticed  here !  " 

They  went  in.  At  sight  of  an  old  gentleman  in  a  Welsh  wig, 
sitting  behind  such  a  high  desk  that,  if  he  had  been  two  Inches 
taller,  he  must  have  knocked  his  head  against  the  celh'ng,  Scrooge 
cried  in  great  excitement:  "Why,  it's  old  Fezziwig!  Bless 
his  heart,  it  *s  Fezziwig,  alive  again !  " 

Old  Fezziwig  laid  down  his  pen,  and  looked  up  at  the  clock, 
which  pointed  to  the  hour  of  seven.  He  rubbed  his  hands;  ad- 
justed his  capacious  waistcoat;  laughed  all  over  himself,  from 
his  shoes  to  his  organ  of  benevolence ;  and  called  out  m  a  comfort- 


138  CHOICE  READINGS 

able,  oily,  rich,  fat,  jovial  voice:    "Yo  ho  there!     Ebenezer; 
Dick!" 

A  living  and  moving  picture  of  Scrooge's  former  self,  a  young 
man,  came  briskly  in,  accompanied  by  his  fellow-prentice. 

"Dick  Wilkins,  to  be  sure!"  said  Scrooge  to  the  Ghost. 
"  My  old  fellow-prentice,  bless  me,  yes.  There  he  is.  He  was 
very  much  attached  to  me,  was  Dick.    Poor  Dick!    Dear,  dear! " 

"Yo  ho,  my  boys!"  said  Fezziwig.  "No  more  work  to- 
night. Christmas  eve,  Dick.  Christmas,  Ebenezer.  Let 's  have 
the  shutters  up,  before  a  man  can  say  Jack  Robinson!  Clear 
away,  my  lads,  and  let's  have  lots  of  room  here!" 

Clear  away !  There  was  nothing  they  would  n't  have  cleared 
away,  or  could  n't  have  cleared  away,  with  old  Fezziwig  looking 
on.  It  was  done  in  a  minute.  Every  movable  was  packed  off, 
as  if  it  were  dismissed  from  public  life  f orevermore ;  the  floor  was 
swept  and  watered,  the  lamps  were  trimmed,  fuel  was  heaped  upon 
the  fire;  and  the  warehouse  was  as  snug  and  warm  and  dry  and 
bright  a  ball-room  as  you  would  desire  to  see  upon  a  winter's 
night. 

In  came  a  fiddler  with  a  music-book,  and  went  up  to  the  lofty 
desk,  and  made  an  orchestra  of  it,  tuned  like  fifty  stomach- 
aches. In  came  Mrs.  Fezziwig,  one  vast  substantial  smile.  In 
came  the  three  Miss  Fezziwigs,  beaming  and  lovable.  In  came 
the  six  young  followers  whose  hearts  they  broke.  In  came  all 
the  young  men  and  women  employed  in  the  business.  In  came 
the  house  maid,  with  her  cousin  the  baker.  In  came  the  cook, 
with  her  brother's  particular  friend  the  milkman.  In  they  all  came 
one  after  another;  some  shyly,  some  boldly,  some  gracefully,  some 
awkwardly,  some  pushing,  some  pulling;  in  they  all  came,  any- 
how and  everyhow.  Away  they  all  went,  twenty  couple  at  once; 
hands  half  round  and  back  again  the  other  way;  down  the  mid- 
dle and  up  again;  round  and  round  in  various  stages  of  affection- 
ate grouping;  old  top  couple  always  turning  up  in  the  wrong 
place;  new  top  couple  starting  off  again,  as  soon  as  they  got  there; 
all  top  couples  at  last,  and  not  a  bottom  one  to  help  them.  When 
this  result  was  brought  about,  old  Fezziwig,  clapping  his  hands 
to  stop  the  dance,  cried  out,  ".  Well  done!  "  and  the  fiddler  plunged 
his  hot  face  into  a  pot  of  porter  especially  provided  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

There  were  more  dances,  and  there  were  forfeits,  and  more 


GAYETY  139 

dances,  and  there  was  cake,  and  there  was  negus,  and  there  was  a 
great  piece  of  Cold  Roast,  and  there  was  a  great  piece  of  Cold 
Boiled,  and  there  were  mince-pies,  and  plenty  of  beer.  But  the 
great  effect  of  the  evening  came  after  the  Roast  and  Boiled,  when 
the  fiddler  struck  up  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly."  Then  old  Fez- 
ziwig  stood  out  to  dance  with  Mrs.  Fezziwig.  Top  couple,  too; 
with  a  good  stiff  piece  of  work  cut  out  for  them ;  three  or  four  and 
twenty  pair  of  partners ;  people  who  were  not  to  be  trifled  with  ; 
people  who  would  dance,  and  had  no  notion  of  walking. 

But  if  they  had  been  twice  as  many, —  four  times, —  old  Fez- 
ziwig would  have  been  a  match  for  them  and  so  would  Mrs. 
Fezziwig.  As  to  her,  she  was  worthy  to  be  his  partner  in  every 
sense  of  the  term.  A  positive  light  appeared  to  issue  from  Fezzi- 
wig's  calves.  They  shone  in  every  part  of  the  dance.  You 
could  n*t  have  predicted,  at  any  given  time,  what  would  become 
of  'em  next.  And  when  old  Fezziwig  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  had 
gone  all  through  the  dance, —  advance  and  retire,  turn  your 
partner,  bow  and  courtesy,  corkscrew,  thread  the  needle,  and  back 
again  to  your  place, —  Fezziwig  "  cut,"  —  cut  so  deftly,  that  he 
appeared  to  wink  with  his  legs. 

When  the  clock  struck  eleven  this  domestic  bail  broke  up. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  took  their  stations,  one  on  either  side 
the  door,  and,  shaking  hands  with  every  person  individually  as  he 
or  she  went  out,  wished  him  or  her  a  Merry  Christmas.  When 
everybody  had  retired  but  the  two  'prentices,  they  did  the  same 
to  them;  and  thus  the  cheerful  voices  died  away,  and  the  lads 
were  left  to  their  beds,  which  were  under  a  counter  in  the  back 
shop. 

—  Charles  Dickens. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  BROOK 
Oh,  It  was  a  dainty  maid  that  went  a-maying  in  the  morn, 

A  dainty,  dainty  maiden  of  degree; 
The  ways  she  took  were  merry,  and  the  ways  she  missed  forlorn, 

And  the  laughing  water  tinkled  to  the  sea. 

The  little  leaves  above  her  lowd  the  dainty,  dainty  maid, 

The  little  winds  they  kissed  her,  every  oner; 
At  the  nearing  of  her  little  feet  the  flowers  were  not  afraid, 

And  the  water  lay  a-wimpling  in  the  sun. 


140  CHOICE  READINGS 

Oh,  the  dainty,  dainty  maid  to  the  borders  of  the  brook, 

Lingered  down  as  lightly  as  the  breeze; 
And  the  shy  water-spiders  quit  their  scurrying  to  look, 

And  the  happy  water  whispered  to  the  trees. 

She  was  fain  to  cross  the  brook,  was  the  dainty,  dainty  maid, 

But  first  she  lifted  up  her  elfin  eyes 
To  see  if  there  were  cavalier  or  clown  anear  to  aid, 

And  the  water-bubbles  blinked  in  surprise. 

The  brook  bared  its  pebbles  to  persuade  her  dainty  feet, 

But  the  dainty,  dainty  maid  was  not  content; 
She  had  spied -a  simple  country  lad  (for  dainty  maid  unmeet). 

And  the  shy  water  twinkled  as  it  went. 

As  the  simple  lad  drew  nigh,  then  this  dainty,  dainty  maid, 
Oh,  maidens,  well  you  know  how  it  was  done! 

Stood  a-gazing  at  her  feet,  until  he  saw  she  was  afraid 
Of  the  water  there  a-wimpling  in  the  sun. 

Now  that  simple  lad  had  in  him  all  the  making  of  a  man. 
And  he  stammered,  "  I  had  better  lift  you  over." 

Said  the  dainty,  dainty  maid,  "Do  you  really  think  you  can?" 
And  the  water  hid  its  laughter  in  the  clover. 

So  he  carried  her  across,  with  his  honest  eyes  cast  down, 

And  his  foolish  heart  a-quaking  with  delight. 
And  the  maid,  she  looked  him  over  with  her  elfin  eyes  of  brown, 

And  the  limpid  water  giggled  at  his  plight. 

He  reached  the  other  side;  he  sat  down  the  dainty  maid; 

But  he  trembled  so  he  could  n't  speak  a  word ; 
Then  the  dainty,  dainty  maid,  "  Thank  you,  sir!  Good-day!  "  she 
said. 

And  the  water-bubbles  chuckled  as  they  heard. 

Oh,  she  tripped  away  so  lightly,  a-maying  in  the  morn. 

That  dainty,  dainty  maiden  of  degree; 
But  she  left  the  simple  country  lad  a-sighing  and  forlorn, 

Where  the  mocking  water  twinkled  to  the  sea. 

—  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts. 


GAYETY  141 

TO  A  SKYLARK 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest, 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire. 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest. 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  setting  sun. 
O'er   which   clouds   are   brightening, 

Thou  dost  float  and  run. 
Like  an  embodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven. 
In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight. 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere. 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn  clear. 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare. 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not; 

What  is  most  like  thee? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 


142  CHOICE  READINGS 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine: 

I  have  never  heard 

Praise  of  love  or  v^rine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal, 

Or  triumphal  chant, 
Matched  with  thine,  would  be  all 

But  an  empty  vaunt, — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains? 

What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?  what  ignorance  of  pain? 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know. 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow. 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


COME  INTO  THE  GARDEN,  MAUD 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

For  the  black  bat,  night,  has  flown! 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 
I  am  here  at  the  gate  alone; 

And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad, 
And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown. 

For  a  breeze  of  morning  moves. 
And  the  planet  of  Love  is  on  high. 

Beginning  to  faint  in  the  light  that  she  loveB, 
On  a  bed  of  daflFodil  sky, — 

To  faint  in  the  light  of  the  sun  that  she  loves, 
To  faint  in  its  light,  and  to  die. 


GAYETY  148 

All  night  have  the  roses  heard 

The  flute,  violin,  bassoon; 
All  night  has  the  casement  jessamine  stirred 

To  the  dancers  dancing  in  tune, — 
Till  a  silence  fell  with  the  waking  bird, 

And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 

I  said  to  the  lily,  "  There  is  but  one 

With  whom  she  has  heart  to  be  gay. 
■When  will  the  dancers  leave  her  alone? 

She  is  weary  of  dance  and  play.'* 
Now  half  to  the  setting  moon  are  gone, 

And  half  to  the  rising  day; 
Low  on  the  sand  and  loud  on  the  stone 

The  last  wheel  echoes  away. 

I  said  to  the  rose,  "  The  brief  night  goes 

In  babble  and  revel  and  wine. 
O  young  lord-lover,  what  sighs  are  those 

For  one  that  will  never  be  thine? 
But  mine,  but  mine,"  so  I  sware  to  the  rose, 

"  For  ever  and  ever  mine !  " 

And  the  soul  of  the  rose  went  into  my  blood, 

As  the  music  clashed  in  the  hall; 
And  long  by  the  garden  lake  I  stood. 

For  I  heard  your  rivulet  fall 
From  the  lake  to  the  meadow  and  on  to  the  wood, 

Our  wood,  that  is  dearer  than  all; 

From  the  meadow  your  walks  have  left  so  sweet, 

That  whenever  a  March-wind  sighs. 
He  sets  the  jewel-print  of  your  feet 

In  violets  blue  as  your  eyes. 
To  the  woody  hollows  in  which  we  meet. 

And  the  valleys  of  Paradise. 

The  slender  acacia  would  not  shake 

One  long  milk-bloom  on  the  tree; 
The  white  lake-blossom  fell  into  the  lake, 

As  the  pimpernel  dozed  on  the  lea; 


144  CHOICE  READINGS 

But  the  rose  was  awake  all  night  for  your  sake, 

Knowing  your  promise  to  me; 
The  lilies  and  roses  were  all  awake, 

They  sighed  for  the  dawn  and  thee. 

Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls, 

Come  hither!  the  dances  are  done; 
In  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls, 

Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one; 
Shine  out,  little  head,  sunning  over  with  curls, 

To  the  flowers,  and  be  their  sun. 

There   has  fallen   a  splendid   tear 

From  the  passion-flower  at  the  gate. 
She  is  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear; 

She  is  coming,  my  life,  my  fate! 
The  red  rose  cries,  "  She  is  near,  she  is  near  "; 

And  the  white  rose  weeps,  "  She  is  late  '' ; 
The  larkspur  listens,  "  I  hear,  I  hear  " ; 

And  the  lily  whispers,  "  I  wait." 

She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet! 

Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread. 
My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Were  it  earth  in  an  earthly  bed; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead; 
Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet, 

And  blossom  in  purple  and  red. 

—  Lord  Tennyson* 


THE  CHEAP  JACK 

I  am  a  Cheap  Jack,  and  my  father's  name  was  Willum  Mari« 
gold.  It  was  in  his  lifetime  supposed  by  some  that  his  name  was 
William,  but  my  father  always  consistently  said,  No,  it  was  Wil- 
lum. On  which  point  I  content  myself  with  looking  at  the  argu- 
ment this  way:  If  a  man  is  not  allowed  to  know  his  own  name  in  a 
free  country,  how  much  is  he  allowed  to  knov^  in  a  land  of  slavery? 

I  was  born  on  the  Queen's  highway,  but  it  was  the  King's  at 
that  time.    The  doctor  being  a  very  kind  gentleman,  and  ;iccepting 


GAYETY 


145 


no  fee  but  a  tea-tray,  I  was  named  Doctor,  out  of  gratitude  and 
compliment  to  him.    There  you  have  me  Doctor  Marigold. 

The  doctor  having  accepted  a  tea-tray,  you  '11  guess  that  my 
father  wsls  a  Cheap  Jack  before  me.  You  are  right.  He  was.  And 
my  father  was  a  lovely  one  in  his  time  at  the  Cheap  Jack  work. 
Now  I  '11  tell  you  what.  I  mean  to  go  down  into  my  grave  declar- 
ing that,  of  all  the  callings  ill-used  in  Great  Britain,  the  Cheap  Jack 
calling  is  the  worst  used.  Why  ain't  we  a  profession  ?  Why  ain't 
we  endowed  with  privileges?  Why  are  we  forced  to  take  out  a 
hawker's  license,  when  no  such  thing  is  expected  of  the  political 
hawkers  ?  Where  's  the  difference  betwixt  us  ?  Except  that  we  are 
Cheap  Jacks  and  they  are  Dear  Jacks.  I  do  n't  see  any  difference 
but  what 's  in  our  favor. 

For  look  here !  Say  it 's  election  time.  I  am  on  the  footboard 
of  my  cart  in  the  market  place  on  a  Saturday  night.  I  put  up  a 
general  miscellaneous  lot.  I  say:  ^^  Now  here  my  free  and  inde- 
pendent woters,  I  'm  a  going  to  give  you  such  a  chance  as  you  never 
had  in  all  your  born  days,  nor  yet  the  days  preceding.  Now  I  '11 
show  you  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  you.  Here  's  a  pair  of 
razors  that  '11  shave  you  closer  than  the  Board  of  Guardians ; 
here  's  a  flat-iron  worth  its  weight  in  gold ;  here  's  a  frying-pan 
artificially  flavored  with  essence  of  beefsteaks  to  that  degree  that 
you  Ve  only  got  for  the  rest  of  your  lives  to  fry  bread  and  drip- 
ping in  it,  and  there  you  are  replete  with  animal  food;  here's  a 
genuine  chronometer  watch  in  such  a  solid  silver  case  that  you  may 
knock  at  the  door  with  it  when  you  come  home  late  from  a  social 
meeting,  and  rouse  your  wife  and  family  and  save  up  your  knocker 
for  the  postman ;  and  here  's  half  a  dozen  dinner-plates  that  you 
may  play  the  cymbals  with  to  charm  the  baby  when  it 's  fractious. 
Stop.  I  '11  throw  you  in  another  article,  and  I  '11  give  you  that, 
and  it 's  a  rolling-pin,  and  if  the  baby  can  only  get  it  well  into 
its  mouth  when  its  teeth  is  coming,  and  rub  the  gums  once  with  it, 
they  '11  come  through  double,  in  a  fit  of  laughter,  equal  to  being 
tickled.  Stop  again !  I  '11  throw  you  in  another  article,  because 
I  do  n't  like  the  looks  of  you,  for  you  have  n't  the  appearance  of 
buyers  unless  I  lose  by  you,  and  because  I  'd  rather  lose  than  not 
take  money  to-night,  and  that  article  's  a  looking-glass,  in  which 
you  may  see  how  ugly  you  look  when  you  don't  bid.  What  do 
you  say  now  ?  Come !  Do  you  say  a  pound  ?  Not  you,  for  you 
have  n't  got  it.    Do  you  say  ten  shillings  ?    Not  you,  for  you  owe 


146  CHOICE  READINGS 

more  to  the  tally-man.  Well,  then,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do  with 
you.  I  '11  heap  'em  all  on  the  footboard  of  the  cart, —  there  they 
are !  razors,  flat-iron,  frying-pan,  chronometer  watch,  dinner-plates, 
rolling-pin,  and  looking-glass, —  take  'em  all  away  for  four  shil- 
lings, and  I  '11  give  you  sixpence  for  your  trouble!  "  This  is  me, 
the  Cheap  Jack. 

I  courted  my  wife  from  the  footboard  of  the  cart.  I  did  in. 
deed.  She  was  a  Suffolk  young  woman,  and  it  was  in  Ipswich 
market-place,  right  opposite  the  corn-chandler's  shop.  I  had  no- 
ticed her  up  at  a  window  last  Saturday  that  was,  appreciating 
highly.  I  had  took  to  her,  and  I  had  said  to  myself:  "  If  not 
already  disposed  of,  I  '11  have  that  lot."  Next  Saturday  that  come, 
I  pitched  the  cart  on  the  same  pitch,  and  I  was  in  very  high  feather 
indeed,  keeping  'em  laughing  the  whole  of  the  time,  and  getting 
off  the  goods  briskly.  At  last  I  took  out  of  my  waistcoat-pocket 
a  small  lot  wrapped  in  soft  paper,  and  I  put  it  this  way  (looking 
up  at  the  window  where  she  was) :  "  Now^  here,  my  blooming 
English  maidens,  is  a  article,  the  last  article  of  the  present  even- 
ing's sale,  which  I  offer  to  only  you,  the  lovely  Suffolk  Dumplings 
biling  over  with  beauty,  and  I  won't  take  a  bid  of  a  thousand 
pound  for,  from  any  man  alive.  Now  what  is  it?  Why  I  '11  tell 
you  what  it  is.  It 's  made  of  fine  gold,  and  it 's  not  broke,  though 
there  's  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  it 's  stronger  than  any  fet- 
ter that  ever  was  forged,  though  it 's  smaller  than  any  finger  in 
my  set  oi  ten.  Why  ten?  Because  when  my  parents  made  over 
my  property  to  me,  I  tell  you  true,  there  was  twelve  sheets,  twelve 
towels,  twelve  table-cloths,  twelve  knives,  twelve  forks,  twelve 
table  spoons,  and  twelve  teaspoons,  but  my  set  of  fingers  was  two 
short  of  a  dozen  and  could  never  since  be  matched.  Now  what 
else  is  it?  Come,  I  '11  tell  you.  It 's  a  hoop  of  solid  gold,  wrapped 
in  a  silver  curl-paper  that  I  myself  took  off  the  shining  locks  of  the 
ever  beautiful  old  lady  in  Threadneedle  Street,  London  city. 
I  would  n't  tell  you  so  if  I  had  n't  the  paper  to  show,  or  you 
mightn't  believe  it  even  of  me.  Now  what  else  is  it?  It's  a 
man-trap  and  a  handcuff,  the  parish  stocks  and  a  leg-lock,  all  in 
gold  and  all  in  one.  Now  what  else  is  it  ?  It 's  a  wedding  ring. 
Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'm  a  going  to  do  with  it.  I  'm  not  go- 
ing to  offer  this  lot  for  money,  but  I  mean  to  give  it  to  the  next 
of  you  beauties  that  laughs,  and  I  '11  pay  her  a  visit  to-morrow 
morning  at  exactly  half  after  nine  o'clock  as  the  chimes  go,  and 


GAYETY  147 

I  '11  take  her  out  for  a  walk  to  put  up  the  banns.'*  She  laughed, 
and  got  the  ring  handed  up  to  Jier.  When  I  called  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  says,  "  O  dear!  It 's  never  you,  and  you  never  mean  it?  " 
"  It 's  ever  mc,"  says  I,  *'  and  I  'm  ever  yours,  and  I  ever  mean  it." 
So  we  got  married,  after  being  put  up  three  times, —  which,  by 
the  by,  is  quite  in  the  Cheap  Jack  way  again,  and  shows  once  more 
how  the  Cheap  Jack  customs  pervade  society. 

She  wasn't  a  bad  wife,  but  she  had  a  temper.  If  she  could 
have  parted  with  that  one  article  at  a  sacrifice,  I  would  n't  have 
swopped  her  away  in  exchange  for  any  other  woman  in  England, 
Not  that  I  ever  did  swop  her  away,  for  we  lived  together  till  she 
died,  and  that  was  thirteen  years.  Now,  my  lords  and  ladies  and 
gentlefolks  all,  I  '11  let  you  into  a  secret,  though  you  won't  be- 
lieve it.  Thirteen  year  of  temper  in  a  Palace  would  try  the 
worst  of  you,  but  thirteen  year  of  temper  in  a  cart  would  try  the 
best  of  you.  You  are  kept  so  very  close  to  it  in  a  cart,  you  see. 
There  's  thousands  of  couples  among  you,  getting  on  like  sweet-ile 
upon  a  whetstone,  in  houses  five  and  six  pairs  of  stairs  high,  that 
would  go  to  the  Divorce  Court  in  a  cart.  Whether  the  jolting 
makes  it  worse,  I  do  n't  undertake  to  decide,  but  in  a  cart  it  does 
come  home  to  you  and  stick  to  you.  Wiolence  in  a  cart  is  so  wio- 
lent,  and  aggrawation  in  a  cart  is  so  aggrawating. 

My  dog  knew  as  well  when  she  was  on  the  turn  as  I  did. 
Before  she  broke  out  he  would  give  a  howl,  and  bolt.  How  he 
knew  it  was  a  mystery  to  me ;  but  the  sure  and  certain  knowledge 
of  it  would  wake  him  up  out  of  his  soundest  sleep,  and  he  would 
give  a  howl,  and  bolt.    At  such  times  I  wished  I  was  him. 

—  Charles  Dickens. 


RIDING  DOWN 


Oh,  did  you  see  him  riding  down, 
And  riding  down  while  all  the  town 
Came  out  to  see,  came  out  to  see. 
And  all  the  bells  rang  mad  with  glee? 

Oh,  did  you  hear  those  bells  ring  out, 
The  bells  ring  out,  the  people  shout? 
And  did  you  hear  that  cheer  on  cheer 
That  over  all  the  bells  rang  clear? 


148  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  did  you  see  the  waving  flags, 

The  fluttering  flags,  the  tattered  flags? 

Red,  white,  and  blue,  shot  through  and  through, 

Baptized  with  battle's  deadly  dew. 

And  did  you  hear  the  drums'  gay  beat, 
The  drums*  gay  beat,  the  bugles  sweet. 
The  cymbals'  clash,  the  cannons'  crash 
That  rent  the  sky  with  sound  and  flash? 

And  did  you  see  me  waiting  there, 
Just  waiting  there  and  watching  there? 
One  little  lass  amid  the  mass 
That  pressed  to  see  the  hero  pass. 

And  did  you  see  him  smiling  down? 
And  smiling  down,  as  riding  down 
With  slowest  pace,  with  stately  grace. 
He  caught  the  vision  of  a  face, — 

My  face  uplifted,  red  and  white, — 
Turned  red  and  white  with  sheer  delight 
To  meet  the  eyes,   the  smiling  eyes, 
Outflashing   in   their   swift  surprise? 

Oh,  did  you  see  how  swift  it  came, 
How  swift  it  came  like  sudden  flame, — 
That  smile  to  me,  to  only  me, 
The  little  lass  who  blushed  to  see? 

And  at  the  windows  all  along. 
Oh,  all  along,  a  lovely  throng 
Of  faces  fair  beyond  compare 
Beamed  out  upon  him  riding  there. 

Each  face  was  like  a  radiant  gem, — 
A  sparkling  gem,  and  yet  for  them 
No  swift  smile  came  like  sudden  flame; 
No  arrowy  glance  took  certain  aim. 

He  turned  away  from  all  their  grace, 
From  all  that  grace  of  perfect  face; 
He  turned  to  me,  to  only  me,-— 
The  little  lass  who  blushed  to  see. 

—  Nora  Perry. 


HUMOR 

The  upper  tones  of  the  voice  are  peculiarly  those  of  Humor. 
A  sudden  flight  on  the  musical  scale,  from  a  comparatively  low- 
note  to  a  very  high  one,  is  usually  provocative  of  mirth. 

The  greatest  possible  variety  of  intonation,  united  with  an 
airiness  of  movement  and  an  approach  to  a  laughing  utterance, 
are  the  principal  requirements  of  Humorous  Reading. 

HUMOROUS  SELECTIONS 

HENRY  V.'S  WOOING 

Scene. — An   Apartment   in    the   French    King's   Palace. —  King 
Henry,  Katherine,  and  Alice  her  Gentlewoman, 

King  Henry,     Fair  Katherine,  and  most  fair! 
Will  you  vouchsafe  to  teach  a  soldier  terms, 
Such  as  will  enter  a  lady's  ear. 
And  plead  his  love-suit  to  her  gentle  heart? 

Kath,  Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me;  I  cannot  speak  your 
England. 

K.  Hen,  O  fair  Katherine,  if  you  will  love  me  soundly  with 
your  French  heart,  I  will  be  glad  to  hear  you  confess  it  brokenly 
with  your  English  tongue.     Do  you  like  me,  Kate? 

Kath,     Pardonnez  moy,  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  —  like  me. 

K,  Hen,  An  angel  is  like  you,  Kate;  and  you  are  like  an 
angel. 

Kath,    Que  dit-il?  que  je  suis  semblable  a  les  angesf 

Alice,     Ouy,  vrayment,  sauf  vostre  Grace,  ainsi  dit-il, 

K,  Hen,  I  said  so,  dear  Katherine,  and  I  must  not  blush  to 
affirm  it. 

Kath,  O  bon  Dieuf  les  langues  des  hommes  sont  pleines  de 
tromperies, 

K,  Hen,  What  says  she,  fair  one  ?  that  the  tongues  of  men  are 
full  of  deceit? 

Alice,  Ouy;  dat  de  tongues  of  de  mans  is  br*  iMl  of  deceits; 
dat  is  de  Princess. 

149 


150  CHOICE  READINGS 

K.  Hen,  The  Princess  is  the  better  Englishwoman,  Y  faith, 
Kate,  my  wooing  is  fit  for  thy  understanding:  I  am  glad  thou 
canst  speak  no  better  English;  for  if  thou  couldst,  thou  wouldst 
find  me  such  a  plain  king  that  thou  wouldst  think  I  had  sold 
my  farm  to  buy  my  crown.  I  know  no  ways  to  mince  it  in  love, 
but  directly  to  say  —  I  love  you:  then,  if  you  urge  me  further 
than  to  say  —  Do  you  in  faith  ?  I  wear  out  my  suit.  Give  me 
your  answer;  V  faith,  do,  and  so  clap  hands  and  a  bargain.  How 
say  you,  lady? 

Kath,    Sauf  vostre  Honneurj  me  understand  well. 

K,  Hen.  Marry,  if  you  would  put  me  to  verses,  or  to  dance 
for  your  sake,  Kate,  why  you  undid  me:  for  the  one,  I  have 
neither  words  nor  measure;  and  for  the  other,  I  have  no  strength 
in  measure,  yet  a  reasonable  measure  in  strength.  If  I  could 
win  a  lady  at  leap-frog,  or  by  vaulting  into  my  saddle  with  my 
armor  on  my  back,  under  the  correction  of  bragging  be  it  spoken, 
I  should  quickly  leap  into  a  wife;  or,  if  I  might  buffet  for  my 
love,  or  bound  my  horse  for  her  favors,  I  could  lay  on  like  a 
butcher,  and  sit  like  a  jack-an-apes,  never  off:  but,  before  God, 
Kate,  I  cannot  look  greenly,  nor  gasp  out  my  eloquence,  nor  I 
have  no  cunning  in  protestation;  only  down-right  oaths,  which  I 
never  use  till  urged,  nor  never  break  for  urging.  If  thou  canst 
love  a  fellow  of  this  temper,  Kate,  whose  face  is  not  worth  sun- 
burning,  that  never  looks  in  his  glass  for  love  of  anything  he  sees 
there,  let  thine  eye  be  thy  cook.  I  speak  to  thee  plain  soldier; 
if  thou  canst  love  me  for  this,  take  me;  if  not,  to  say  to  thee 
that  I  shall  die,  is  true;  but  for  thy  love,  by  the  Lord,  no;  yet 
I  love  thee,  too.  And,  while  thou  liv'st,  dear  Kate,  take  a  fellow 
of  plain  and  uncoined  constancy,  for  he  perforce  must  do  thee 
right,  because  he  hath  not  the  gift  to  woo  in  other  places;  for 
these  fellows  of  infinite  tongue,  that  can  rhyme  themselves  into 
ladies*  favors,  they  do  always  reason  themselves  out  again.  What! 
a  speaker  is  but  a  prater;  a  rhyme  is  but  a  ballad.  A  good  leg 
will  fall,  a  straight  back  will  stoop,  a  black  beard  will  turn  white, 
a  curled  pate  will  grow  bald,  a  fair  face  will  wither,  a  full  eye 
will  wax  hollow;  but  a  good  heart,  Kate,  is  the  sun  and  the 
moon ;  or,  rather,  the  sun,  and  not  the  moon,  for  it  shines  bright, 
and  never  changes,  but  keeps  his  course  truly.  If  thou  would 
have  such  a  one,  take  me:  and  take  me,  take  a  soldier;  take  a 
soldier,  take  a  king;  and  what  say'st  thou  then  to  my  love? 
speak,  my  fair,  and  fairly,  I  pray  thee. 


HUMOR  161 

Kath.     Is  It  possible  dat  I  should  love  de  enemy  of  France? 

K.  Hen,  No;  it  is  not  possible  you  should  love  the  enemy  of 
France,  Kate;  but  in  loving  me,  you  should  love  the  friend  of 
France,  for  I  love  France  so  w^ell  that  I  will  not  part  with  a 
village  of  it;  I  will  have  it  all  mine;  and,  Kate,  when  France  is 
mine  and  I  am  yours,  then  yours  is  France  and  you  are  mine. 

Kath,    I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat. 

K,  Hen.  No,  Kate?  I  will  tell  thee  in  French,  which  I  am 
sure  will  hang  upon  my  tongue  like  a  new  married  wife  about  hei 
husband's  neck,  hardly  to  be  shook  off.  Quand  j'ay  la  possession 
de  France  J  et  quand  vous  avez  le  possession  de  moy  (let  me  seo* 
what  then?  Saint  Denis  be  my  speed!)  — done  vostre  est  France, 
et  vous  estes  mienne.  It  is  as  easy  for  me,  Kate,  to  conquer  the 
Kingdom,  as  to  speak  so  much  more  French.  I  shall  never  mov^ 
thee  in  French,  unless  it  be  to  laugh  at  me. 

Kath,  Sauf  vostre  Honneurj  le  Frangois  que  vous  parlez  es( 
meilleur  que  V  Anglois  lequel  je  parle, 

K,  Hen.  No,  faith,  is 't  not,  Kate;  but  thy  speaking  of  my 
tongue,  and  I   thine,  most  truly  falsely,  must  needs  be  granted 
to  be  much  at  one.     But,  Kate,  dost  thou  understand  thus  mucb' 
English?     Canst  thou  love  me? 
I      Kath,     I  cannot  tell. 

r  K,  Hen.  Can  any  of  your  neighbors  tell,  Kate  ?  I  '11  ask 
them.  Come,  I  know  thou  lovest  me,  and  at  night,  when  you 
come  into  your  closet,  you  '11  question  this  gentlewoman  abou« 
me;  and  I  know,  Kate,  you  will  to  her,  dispraise  those  parts  in 
me  that  you  love  with  your  heart;  but,  good  Kate,  mock  me  mer- 
cifully, the  rather,  gentle  Princess,  because  I  love  thee  cruelly. 
If  ever  thou  be'st  mine,  Kate  (as  I  have  a  saving  faith  within  me 
tells  thou  shalt),  I  get  thee  with  scambling.  But  what  say'st 
thou,  my  fair  flower-de-luce? 

Kath.    I  do  not  know  dat. 

K,  Hen,  No;  't  is  hereafter  to  know,  but  now  to  promise. 
How  answer  you,  la  plus  belle  Katherine  du  monde,  mon  tres 
chere  et  divin  desse? 

Kath,  Your  Majeste  have  fausee  French  enough  to  deceive 
de  most  sage  damoiselle  dat  is  en  France. 

K.  Hen,  Now,  fie  upon  my  false  French.  By  mine  honor,  in 
true  English,  I  love  thee,  Kate:  by  which  honor  I  dare  not  swear 
thou  lovest  me;  yet  my  blood  begins  to  flatter  me  thou  dost,  not- 


152  CHOICE  READINGS 

withstanding;  the  poof  and  untempering  effect  of  my  visage.  I 
was  created  with  a  stubborn  outside,  with  an  aspect  of  iron,  that^ 
when  I  come  to  woo  ladies,  I  fright  them.  But,  in  faith,  Kate, 
the  elder  I  wax,  the  better  I  shall  appear :  my  comfort  is,  that  old 
age,  that  ill  laj'er-up  of  beauty,  can  do  no  more  spoil  upon  my 
face;  thou  hast  me,  if  thou  hast  me,  at  the  worst;  and  thou  shalt 
wear  me,  if  thou  wear  me,  better  and  better.  And  therefore  tell 
me,  most  fair  Katherine,  will  you  have  me  ?  Put  off  your  maiden 
blushes;  avouch  the  thoughts  of  your  heart  with  the  looks  of  an 
empress;  take  me  by  the  hand  and  say  —  Harry  of  England,  I 
am  thine:  which  word  thou  shalt  no  sooner  bless  my  ears  withal, 
but  I  will  tell  thee  aloud  —  England  is  thine,  Ireland  is  thine, 
France  is  thine,  and  Henry  Plantagenet  is  thine.  Who,  though 
I  speak  it  before  his  face,  if  he  be  not  fellow  with  the  best  King, 
thou  shalt  find  the  best  king  of  good  fellows.  Come,  your  answer 
in  broken  music,  for  thy  voice  is  music,  and  thy  English  broken; 
therefore.  Queen  of  all  Katherines,  break  thy  mind  to  me  in 
broken  English:  wilt  thou  have  me? 

Kath.    Dat  is  as  it  shall  please  de  Roy  mon  pere, 

K,  Hen.     Nay  it  will  please  him  well,  Kate:  it  shall  please 
him,  Kate. 

Kath.     Den  it  shall  also  content  me. 

K.  Hen,,    Upon  that  I  kiss  your  hand,  and  I  call  you  —  my 
queen. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


WIDOW  MALONE 

Did  you  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone ! 
Who  lived  in  the  town  of  Athlone, 

Alone ! 
O,  she  melted  the  hearts 
Of  the  swains  in  thena  parts: 
So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone^ 

OhonA 
So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone. 


HUMOR  15S 

Of  lovers  she  had  a  full  score, 

Or  more, 
And  fortunes  they  all  had  galore, 

In  store; 
From  the  minister  down 
To  the  clerk  of  the  Crown, 
All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone! 
All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone. 

But  so  modest  was  Mistress  Malone 

*T  was  known  I 
That  no  one  could  see  her  alone, 

Ohone ! 
Let  them  ogle  and  sigh, 
They  could  ne'er  catch  her  eye, 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone, 

Ohone ! 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone. 

Till  one  Mister  O'Brien,  from  Clare, 

(How  quare! 
It 's  little  for  blushing  they  care 

Down  there.) 
Put  his  arm  round  her  waist, — 
Gave  ten  kisses  at  laste, — 
"  O,"  says  he,  "  you  're  my  Molly  Malone, 

My  own !  " 
*'  O,"  says  he,  "  you  're  my  Molly  Malone." 

And  the  widow  they  all  thought  so  shy, 

My   eye ! 
Ne'er  thought  of  a  simper  or  sigh, — 

For  why? 
But,  "  Lucius,"  says  she, 
"  Since  you  've  now  made  so  free, 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone, 

Ohone! 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone." 


154  CHOICE  READINGS 

There  's  a  moral  contained  in  my  song, 

Not  wrong; 
And  one  comfort,  it 's  not  very  long, 

But  strong. 
If  for  widows  you  die. 
Learn  to  kiss,  not  to  sigh; 
For  they  're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone, 

Ohone ! 
O  they  're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone. 

—  Charles  Lever. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  OYSTERMAN  ^ 

It  was  a  tall  young  oysterman  lived  by  the  river-side. 
His  shop  was  just  upon  the  bank,  his  boat  was  on  the  tide; 
The  daughter  of  a  fisherman,  that  was  so  straight  and  slim, 
Lived  over  on  the  other  bank,  right  opposite  to  him. 

It  was  the  pensive  oysterman  that  saw  a  lovely  maid, 

Upon  a  moonlight  evening,  a-sitting  in  the  shade; 

He  saw  her  wave  her  handkerchief,  as  much  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  'm  wide  awake,  young  oysterman,  and  all  the  folks  away." 

Then  up  aroee  the  oysterman  and  to  himself  said  he: 

'*  I  guess  I  '11  leave  the  skiff  at  home,  for  fear  that  folks  should 

see; 
I  read  it  in  the  story-book,  that,  for  to  kiss  his  dear, 
Leander  swam  the  Hellespont, —  and  I  will  swim  this  here.*' 

And  he  has  leaped  into  the  waves,  and  crossed  the  shining  stream, 
And  he  has  clambered  up  the  bank,  all  in  the  moonlight  gleam; 
O  there  were  kisses  sweet  as  dew,  and  words  as  soft  as  rain, — 
But  they  have  heard  her  father's  step,  and  in  he  leaps  again! 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman, — "  O  what  was  that,  my  daugh- 
ter?" 
"  'T  was  nothing  but  a  pebble,  sir,  I  threw  into  the  water." 
"And  what  is  that,  pray  tell  me,  love,  that  paddles  off  so  fast?" 
"  It 's  nothing  but  a  porpoise,  sir,  that 's  been  a-swimming  past." 


HUMOR  155 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman, — "  Now  bring  me  my  harpoon! 
I  '11  get  into  my  fishing-boat,  and  fix  the  fellow  soon." 
Down  fell  that  pretty  innocent,  as  falls  a  snow-white  lamb, 
Her  hair  drooped  round  her  pallid  cheeks,  like  sea-weed  on  a  clam. 

Alas  for  those  two  loving  ones!  she  waked  not  from  her  swound, 
And  he  was  taken  with  the  cramp,  and  in  the  waves  was  drowned; 
But  Fate  has  metamorphosed  them,  in  pity  of  their  woe, 
And  now  they  keep  an  oyster-shop  for  mermaids  down  below. 

—  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  LOW-BACKED  CAR 

When  first  I  saw  sweet  Peggy, 

'Twas  on  a  market  day: 
A  low-backed  car  she  drove,  and  sat 

Upon  a  truss  of  hay; 
But  when  that  hay  was  blooming  grass, 

And  decked  with  flowers  of  spring. 
No  flower  was  there  that  could  compare 

With  the  blooming  girl  I  sing. 
As  she  sat  in  the  low-backed  car. 
The  man  at  the  turnpike  bar 
Never  asked  for  the  toll. 
But  just  rubbed  his  owld  poll, 
And  looked  after  the  low-backed  car. 

In  battle's  wild  commotion, 

The  proud  and  mighty  Mars 
With  hostile  scythes  demands  his  tithes 

Of  death  in  warlike  cars; 
While  Peggy,  peaceful  goddess. 

Has  darts  in  her  bright  eye. 
That  knock  men  down  in  the  market  town. 

As  right  and  left  they  fly; 
While  she  sits  in  her  low-backed  car, 
Than  battle  more  dangerous  far, — 
For  the  doctor's  art 
Cannot  cure  the  heart. 
That  is  hit  from  that  low-backed  car. 


156  CHOICE  READINGS 

Sweet  Peggy  round  her  car,  sir, 

Has  strings  of  ducks  and  geese, 
But  the  scores  of  hearts  she  slaughters 

By  far  outnumber  these; 
While  she  among  her  poultry  sits, 

Just  like  a  turtle-dove. 
Well  worth  the  cage,  I  do  engage, 

Of  the  blooming  god  of  Love! 
While  she  sits  in  her  low-backed  car, 
The  lovers  come  near  and  far. 
And  envy  the  chicken 
That  Peggy  is  picking 
As  she  sits  in  her  low-backed  car. 

O,  I  'd  rather  own  that  car,  sir, 

With  Peggy  by  my  side, 
Than  a  coach  and  four,  and  gold  galore. 

And  a  lady  for  my  bride; 
For  the  lady  would  sit  forninst  me, 

On  a  cushion  made  with  taste. 
While  Peggy  wx)uld  sit  beside  me. 
With  my  arm  around  her  waist. 
While  we  drove  in  the  low-backed  car, 
To  be  married  by  Father  Mahar; 
O,  my  heart  would  beat  high 
At  her  glance  and  her  sigh, — 
Though  it  beat  in  a  low-backed  car! 

—  Samuel  Lover. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  SAINT  PATRICK 

On  the  eighth  day  of  March  it  was,  some  people  say, 
Saint  Patrick  at  midnight  he  first  saw  the  day; 
While  others  declare  'twas  the  ninth  he  was  born. 
And  'twas  all  a  mistake  between  midnight  and  morn; 
For  mistakes  will  occur  in  a  hurry  and  shock. 
And  some  blamed  the  baby  —  and  some  blamed  the  clock  — 
Till  with  all  their  cross-questions  sure  no  one  could  know 
If  the  child  was  too  fast,  or  the  clock  was  too  slow. 


HUMOR  157 

Now  the  first  faction-fight  in  owld  Ireland,  they  say, 

Was  all  on  account  of  Saint  Patrick's  birthday. 

Some  fought  for  the  eighth, —  for  the  ninth  more  would  die, 

And  who  would  n't  see  right,  sure  they,  blackened  his  eye  1 

At  last,  both  the  factions  so  positive  grew, 

That  each  kept  a  birthday,  so  Pat  then  had  two, 

Till  Father  Mulcahy,  who  showed  them  their  sins, 

Said,  "  No  one  could  have  two  birthdays,  but  a  twins." 

Says  he,  "  Boys,  do  n't  be  fightin'  for  eight  or  for  nine, 

Do  n't  be  always  dividin' —  but  sometimes  combine  ; 

Combine  eight  with  nine,  and  seventeen  is  the  mark, 

So  let  that  be  his  birthday,"—"  Amen,"  says  the  clerk. 

"  If  he  was  n't  a  twins,  sure  our  history  will  show 

That,  at  least,  he's  worth  any  two  saints  that  we  know!" 

Then  they  all  got  blind  dhrunk  —  which  complated  their  bliss, 

And  we  keep  up  the  practice  from  that  day  to  this, 

—  Samuel  Lover* 


THE  COURTIN' 


God  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'  still 

Fur  'z  you  can  look  or  listen. 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 

All  silence  an*  all  glisten. 

Zekle  crep'  up  quite  unbeknown 
An'  peeked  in  thru'  the  winder, 

An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 
'Ith  no  one  nigh  to  bender. 

A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 
With  half  a  cord  o'  wood  in  — 

There  war  n't  no  stoves  (tell  comfort  died) 
To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Towards  the  pootiest,  bless  her, 

An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 
The  chiny  on  the  dresser. 


158  CHOICE  READINGS 

Agin  the  chimbley  crook-necks  hung, 

An^  in  amongst  'em  rusted 
The  ole  queen's  arm  that  gran'ther  Young 

Fetched  back  from  Concord  busted. 

The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in, 

Seemed  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin', 

An'  she  looked  full  ez  rozy  agin 
Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin*. 

'Twas  kin'  o'  kingdom-come  to  look 

On  such  a  blessed  creetur, 
A  dogrose  blushin'  to  a  brook 

Ain't  modester  nor  sweeter. 

He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  i, 
Clean  grit  an'  human  natur'; 

None  could  n't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 
Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 

He  'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 
Had  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'em, 

Fust  this  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells  — 
All  is,  he  could  n't  love  'em. 

But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 
All  crinkly  like  curled  maple, 

The  side  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun, 
Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'icc  hed  'sech  a  swing 

Ez  hisn  in  the  choir; 
My!  when  he  made  Ole  Hundred  ring. 

She  knowed  the  Lord  was  nigher. 

An'  she'd  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer, 
When  her  new  meetin'-bunnei; 

Felt  somehow  thru'  its  crown  a  pair 
O'  blue  eyes  sot  tipon  it. 


HUMOR  159 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  some! 

She  seemed  to  Ve  gut  a  new  soul, 
For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he  'd  come, 

Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  heered  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu. 

A-raspfn'  on  the  scrapei, — 
All  ways  to  once  hei  feelin's  flew 

Like  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper. 

He  kin'  o'  I'itered  on  the  mat, 

Some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle. 
His  heart  kep'  goin'  pity-pat. 

But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 

An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 

Ez  though  she  wished  him  furder, 
An*  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 

Parin'  away  like  murder. 

**  You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Wall    ...    No    ...    I  come  designin 

"  To  see  my  Ma  ?    She  's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer  's  i'nin'." 

To  say  why  gals  act  so  or  so, 

Or  don't  'ould  be  presumin'; 
Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no 

Comes  nateral  to  women. 

He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust. 

Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'other, 
An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 

He  could  n't  ha'  told  ye  nuther. 

Says  he,  "  I  'd  better  call  agin ;  " 

Says  she,  "  Think  likely,  Mister," 
Thet  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin. 

An'     .     .     .    Wal,  he  up  an'  kist  her. 


> » 


160  CHOICE  READINGS 

When  Ma  bimeby  upon  *em  slips, 

Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  'roun  the  lips 

An'  teary  'roun  the  lashes. 

For  she  was  jes'  the  quiet  kind 

Whose  naturs  never  vary, 
Like  streams  that  keep  a  summer  mind 

Snowhid  in  Jenooary. 

The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued 

Too  tight  for  all  expressing 
Tell  mother  see  how  metters  stood, 

An  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is  they  was  cried 

In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday, 

—  James  Russell  LowelU 


KITTY  OF  COLERAINE 

As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  tripping 

With  a  pitcher  of  milk,  from  the  fair  of  Coleraine, 

When  she  saw  me  she  stumbled,  the  pitcher  it  tumbled, 
And  all  the  sweet  buttermilk  watered  the  plain. 

'*  O,  what  shall  I  do  now  ?  —  't  was  looking  at  you  now ! 

Sure,  sure,  such  a  pitcher  I  '11  ne'er  meet  again ! 
'T  was  the  pride  of  my  dairy:  O  Barney  M'Cleary ! 

You  're  sent  as  a  plague  to  the  girls  of  Coleraine." 

I  sat  down  beside  her,  and  gently  did  chide  her, 
That  such  a  misfortune  should  give  her  such  pain. 

A  kiss  then  I  gave  her ;  and  ere  I  did  leave  her. 
She  vowed  for  such  pleasure  she  'd  break  it  again. 

'T  was  hay-making  season  —  I  can't  tell  the  reason  — 
Misfortunes  will  never  come  single,  't  is  plain; 

For  very  soon  after  poor  Kitty's  disaster 
The  devil  a  pitcher  was  whole  in  Coleraine. 

—  Charles  Daivson  Shanly, 


HUMOR 


OUR  GUIDE  IN  GENOA  AND  ROME 


161 


European  guides  know  about  enough  English  to  tangle  every- 
thing up  so  that  a  man  can  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it.  They 
know  their  story  by  heart, —  the  history  of  every  statue,  painting, 
cathedral,  or  other  wonder  they  show  you.  They  know  it  and 
tell  it  as  a  parrot  would, —  and  if  you  interrupt,  and  throw  them 
of?  the  track  they  have  to  go  back  and  begin  over  again.  All  their 
lives  long,  they  are  employed  in  showing  strange  things  to  for- 
eigners and  listening  to  their  bursts  of  admiration. 

It  is  human  nature  to  take  delight  in  exciting  admiration.  It 
is  what  prompts  children  to  say  "  smart ''  things,  and  do  absurd 
ones,  and  in  other  ways  "  show  ofif  ^'  when  company  is  present.  It 
is  what  makes  gossips  turn  out  in  rain  and  storm  to  go  and  be  the 
first  to  tell  a  startling  bit  of  news.  Think,  then,  what  a  passion 
it  becomes  with  a  guide,  whose  privilege  it  is,  every  day,  to  show 
to  strangers  wonders  that  throw  them  into  perfect  ecstacies  of 
admiration.  He  gets  so  that  he  could  not  by  any  possibility  live 
in  a  soberer  atmosphere. 

After  we  discovered  this,  we  never  went  into  ecstacies  any 
more, —  we  never  admired  anything, —  we  never  showed  any  but 
impassible  faces  and  stupid  indifference  in  the  presence  of  the  sub- 
limest  wonders  a  guide  had  to  display.  We  had  found  their  weak 
point.  We  have  made  good  use  of  it  ever  since.  We  have  made 
some  of  these  people  savage,  at  times,  but  we  have  never  lost  our 
serenity. 

The  doctor  asks  the  questions  generally,  because  he  can  keep 
his  countenance,  and  look  more  like  an  inspired  idiot,  and  throw 
more  imbecility  into  the  tone  of  his  voice  than  any  man  that  lives. 
It  comes  natural  to  him. 

The  guides  in  Genoa  are  delighted  to  secure  an  American 
party,  because  Americans  so  much  wonder,  and  deal  so  much  in 
sentiment  and  emotion  before  any  relic  of  Columbus.  Our  guide 
there  fidgeted  about  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  spring  mattress.  H^ 
was  full  of  animation, —  full  of  impatience.    He  said : 

"Come  wis  me,  genteelmen!  —  come!  I  show  you  ze  letter 
writing  by  Christopher  Colombo!  —  write  it  himself!  —  write  it 
wis  his  own  hand !  —  come !  " 

He  took  us  to  the  municipal  palace.  After  much  impressive 
fumbling  of  keys  and  opening  of  locks,  the  stained  and  aged  docu- 


162  CHOICE  READINGS 

ment  was  spread  before  us.  The  guide's  eyes  sparkled.  He  danced 
about  us  and  tapped  the  parchment  with  his  finger :  — 

"What  I  tell  you,  genteelmen!  Is  it  not  so?  See!  hand- 
writing Christopher  Colombo !  —  write  it  himself !  " 

We  looked  indifferent, —  unconcerned.  The  doctor  examined 
the  document  very  deliberately,  during  a  painful  pause.  Then  he 
said,  without  any  show  of  interest, — 

"  Ah,—  Ferguson, —  what  —  what  did  you  say  was  the  name 
of  the  party  who  wrote  this?  '* 

"  Christopher    Colombo !    ze    great    Christopher    Colombo !  ** 

Another  deliberate  examination. 

"Ah, —  did  he  write  it  himself,  or,  or  —  how?" 

"  He  write  it  himself !  —  Christopher  Colombo !  he's  own 
handwriting,  write  by  himself!  " 

Then  the  doctor  laid  the  document  down  and  said, — 

"  Why,  I  have  seen  boys  in  America  only  fourteen  years  old 
that  could  write  better  than  that." 

"  But  zis  is  ze  great  Christo  —  " 

"  I  do  n't  care  who  it  is !  It 's  the  worst  writing  I  ever  saw. 
Now  you  must  n't  think  you  can  impose  on  us  because  we  are 
strangers.  We  are  not  fools,  by  a  good  deal.  If  you  have  got  any 
specimens  of  penmanship  of  real  merit,  trot  them  out!  —  and  if 
you  have  n't,  drive  on !  " 

We  drove  on.  The  guide  was  considerably  shaken  up,  but  he 
made  one  more  venture.  He  had  something  which  he  thought 
would  overcome  us.     He  said, — 

"Ah,  genteelmen,  you  come  wis  me!  I  show  you  beautiful, 
O,  magnificent  bust  Christopher  Colombo!  —  splendid,  grand, 
magnificent!  " 

He  brought  us  before  the  beautiful  bust, —  for  it  was  beauti- 
ful,—  and  sprang  back  and  struck  an  attitude:  — 

"Ah,  look,  genteelmen!  —  beautiful,  grand, —  bust  Christo- 
pher Colombo!  —  beautiful  bust,  beautiful  pedestal!" 

The  doctor  put  up  his  eye-glass, —  procured  for  such  occa- 
sions :  — 

'*  Ah, —  what  did  you  say  this  gentleman's  name  was?" 
"  Christopher  Colombo!  ze  great  Christopher  Colombo!  " 
"  Christopher    Colombo, —  the    great    Christopher    Colombo. 
Well,  what  did  he  do?" 

"  Discover  America!  —  discover  America,  O,  ze  devil!" 


HUMOR  163 

"  Discover  America.  No, —  that  statement  will  hardly  wash* 
We  are  just  from  America  ourselves.  We  heard  nothing  about  it. 
Christopher  Colombo, —  pleasant  name, —  is  —  is  he  dead?" 

"  O,  corpo  di  Baccho!  —  three  hundred  year!  ** 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  cannot  tell." 

"Small-pox,  think?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  genteelmen, —  I  do  not  know  what  he  die  of.** 

"Measles,  likely?" 

"  Maybe, —  maybe.  I  do  not  know, —  I  think  he  die  of  some- 
things." 

"  Parents  living?  " 

"  Im-posseeble !  " 

"  Ah, —  which  is  the  bust  and  which  is  the  pedestal  ?  " 

"  Santa  Maria!  —  zis  ze  bust!  —  zis  ze  pedestal !  " 

"  Ah,  I  see,  I  see  —  happy  combination, —  very  happy  combi- 
nation indeed.  Is  —  is  this  the  first  time  this  gentleman  was  ever 
on  a  bust?  " 

That  joke  was  lost  on  the  foreigner, —  guides  cannot  master 
the  subtleties  of  the  American  joke. 

We  have  made  it  interesting  for  this  Roman  guide.  Yester- 
day we  spent  three  or  four  hours  in  the  Vatican  again,  that  won- 
derful world  of  curiosities.  We  came  very  near  expressing  inter- 
est sometimes,  even  admiration.  It  was  hard  to  keep  from  it.  We 
succeeded,  though.  Nobody  else  ever  did,  in  the  Vatican  museums. 
The  guide  was  bewildered,  nonplussed.  He  walked  his  legs  offj 
nearly,  hunting  up  extraordinary  things,  and  exhausted  all  his  in- 
genuity on  us,  but  it  was  a  failure;  we  never  showed  any  interest 
in  anything.  He  had  reserved  what  he  considered  to  be  his  great- 
est wonder  till  the  last, —  a  royal  Egyptian  mummy,  the  best  pre- 
served in  the  world,  perhaps.  He  took  us  there.  He  felt  so  sure, 
this  time,  that  some  of  his  old  enthusiasm  came  back  to  him : 

"  See,  genteelmen!  —  Mummy!  Mummy!  " 

The  eye-glass  came  up  as  calmly,  as  deliberately  as  ever. 

"Ah, —  Ferguson, —  what  did  I  understand  you  to  say  the 
gentleman's  name  was?" 

"Name?  —  he  got  no  name!  Mummy!  —  'Gyptian  mum- 
my!" 

"Yes,  yes.    Born  here?" 

"  No.    *Gyptian  mummy." 


164  CHOICE  READINGS 

"Ah,  just  so.    Frenchman,  I  presume?" 

"No!  —  not   Frenchman,   not  Roman!  —  born   in   Egypta!  " 

"  Born  in  Egypta,  Never  heard  of  Egypta  before.  Foreign 
locality,  likely.  Mummy,  —  mummy.  How  calm  he  is,  how  self- 
possessed  !     Is  —  ah !  —  is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  O,  sacre  bleu!  been  dead  three  thousan'  year! '' 

The  doctor  turned  on  him  savagely:  — 

"  Here,  now,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct  as  this?  Play- 
ing us  for  Chinamen  because  we  are  strangers  and  trying  to  learn! 
Trying  to  impose  your  vile  second-hand  carcasses  on  us!  Thunder 
and  lightning!  I  ve  a  notion  to  —  to —  If  you  Ve  got  a  nice 
fresh  corpse,  fetch  him  out!  —  or,  by  George,  we  '11  brain  you!  " 

We  make  it  exceedingly  interesting  for  this  Frenchman.  How- 
ever, he  has  paid  us  back,  partly,  without  knowing  it.  He  came  to 
the  hotel  this  morning  to  ask  if  we  were  up,  and  he  endeavored,  as 
well  as  he  could,  to  describe  us,  so  that  the  landlord  would  know 
which  persons  he  meant.  He  finished  with  the  casual  remark  that 
we  were  lunatics.  The  observation  was  so  innocent  and  so  honest 
that  it  amounted  to  a  very  good  thing  for  a  guide  to  say. 

Our  Roman  Ferguson  is  the  most  patient,  unsuspecting,  long- 
suffering  subject  we  have  had  yet.  We  shall  be  sorry  to  part  with 
him.  We  have  enjoyed  his  society  very  much.  We  trust  he  has 
enjoyed  ours,  but  we  are  harassed  with  doubts. 

—  Samuel  L.  Clemens* 


THE  SUBSCRIPTION  LIST 

On  the  Sunday  in  question.  Father  Phil  intended  delivering 
an  address  to  his  flock  from  the  altar,  urging  them  to  the  neces- 
sity of  bestirring  themselves  in  the  repairs  of  the  chapel,  which 
was  in  a  very  dilapidated  condition,  and  at  one  end  let  in  the  rain 
through  its  worn-out  thatch.  A  subscription  was  necessary:  and 
to  raise  this  among  a  very  impoverished  people  was  no  easy  matter. 
The  weather  happened  to  be  unfavorable,  which  was  most  favor- 
able to  Father  Phil's  purpose,  for  the  rain  dropped  its  arguments 
through  the  roof  upon  the  kneeling  people  below,  in  the  most  con- 
vincing manner ;  and  as  they  endeavored  to  get  out  of  the  wet,  they 
pressed  round  the  altar  as  much  as  they  could,  for  which  they  were 
reproved  very  smartly  by  his  Reverence  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
mass.    These  interruptions  occurred  sometimes  in  the  most  serious 


HUMOR  165 

places,  producing  a  ludicrous  eflEect,  of  which  the  worthy  Father 
was  quite  unconscious,  in  his  great  anxiety  to  make  the  people  re- 
pair the  chapel. 

A  big  woman  was  elbowing  her  way  towards  the  rails  of  the 
altar,  and  Father  Phil,  casting  a  sidelong  glance  at  her,  sent  her 
to  the  right-about,  while  he  interrupted  his  appeal  to  Heaven  to 
address  her  thus :  — 

''  Agnus  Dei  —  You'd  betther  jump  over  the  rails  of  the  althar, 
I  think.  Go  along  out  o'  that ;  there  's  plenty  o'  room  in  the  chapel 
below  there — " 

Then  he  would  turn  to  the  altar,  and  proceed  with  the  service, 
till,  turning  again  to  the  congregation,  he  perceived  some  fresh  of- 
fender. 

'^  Orate  fratres!  —  Will  you  mind  what  I  say  to  you,  and 
go  along  out  of  that,  there  's  room  below  there.  Thrue  for  you, 
Mrs.  Finn, —  it 's  a  shame  for  him  ter  be  thramplin'  on  you.  Go 
along,  Darby  Casy,  down  there,  and  kneel  in  the  rain, —  it  *s  a  pity 
you  haven't  a  decent  woman's  cloak  under  you,  indeed!  —  Orate 
fratres!  " 

Then  would  the  service  proceed  again,  till  the  shuffling  of  feet 
edging  out  of  the  rain  would  disturb  him,  and,  casting  a  backward 
glance,  he  would  say, — 

"  I  hear  you  there, —  can't  you  be  quiet,  and  not  be  disturbin' 
my  mass,  you  haythens  ?  " 

Again  he  proceeded,  till  the  crying  of  a  child  interrupted  him. 
He  looked  round  quickly  — 

"  You  'd  betther  kill  the  child,  I  think,  thramplin'  on  him, 
Laver>\  Go  out  o'  that, —  your  conduct  is  scandalous  —  Dominus 
vobiscum!'^ 

Again  he  turned  to  pray,  and  after  son^  time  he  made  an  in- 
terval in  the  service  to  address  his  congregation  on  the  subject  of 
the  repairs,  and  produced  a  paper  containing  the  names  of  sub- 
scribers to  that  pious  work  who  had  already  contributed,  by  way 
of  example  to  those  who  had  not. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Father  Phil,—"  here  it  is,  and  no  denying 
It,_down  in  black  and  white;  but  if  they  who  give  arc  down  in 
black,  how  much  blacker  are  those  who  have  not  given  at  all !  But 
I  hope  they  will  be  ashamed  of  themselves  when  I  howld  up  those 
to  honor  who  have  contributed  to  the  uphowlding  of  the  house  of 
God.    And  is  n't  it  ashamed  o'  yourselves  you  ought  to  be,  to  lave 


166  CHOICE  READINGS 

His  house  in  such  a  condition?  and  doesn't  it  rain  almost  every 
Sunday,  as  if  He  wished  to  remind  you  of  your  duty?  —  aren't 
you  wet  to  the  skin  a'most  every  Sunday?  O,  God  is  good  to  you! 
to  put  you  in  mind  of  your  duty,  giving  you  such  bitther  cowlds 
that  you  are  coughing  and  sneezin'  every  Sunday  to  that  degree 
that  you  can't  hear  the  blessed  mass  for  a  comfort  and  a  benefit  to 
you  and  so  you  '11  go  on  sneezin'  until  you  put  a  good  thatch  on 
the  place,  and  prevent  the  appearance  of  the  evidence  from  Heaven 
against  you  every  Sunday,  which  is  condemning  you  before  your 
faces,  and  behind  your  backs,  too;  for  don't  I  see  this  minit  a 
strame  o'  wather  that  might  turn  a  mill  running  down  Micky 
Mackavoy's  back,  between  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  his  shirt?  " 

Here  a  laugh  ensued  at  the  expense  of  Micky  Mackavoy,  who 
certainly  was  under  a  very  heavy  drip  from  the  imperfect  roof. 

"  And  is  it  laughing  you  are,  you  haythens?  "  said  Father  Phil, 
reproving  the  merriment  which  he  himself  had  purposely  created, 
that  he  might  reprove  it.  "  Laughing  is  it  you  are,  at  your  back- 
slidings  and  insensibility  to  the  honor  of  God, —  laughing  because 
when  you  come  here  to  be  saved,  you  are  lost  entirely  with  the  wet, 
and  how,  I  ask  you,  are  my  words  of  comfort  to  enter  your  hearts 
when  the  rain  is  pouring  down  your  backs  at  the  same  time  ?  Sure 
I  have  no  chance  of  turning  your  hearts  while  you  are  under  rain 
that  might  turn  a  mill, —  but  once  put  a  good  roof  on  the  house, 
and  I  will  inundate  you  with  piety !  Maybe  it 's  Father  Dominick 
you  would  like  to  have  coming  among  you,  who  would  grind  your 
hearts  to  powdher  with  his  heavy  words."  (Here  a  low  murmur 
of  dissent  ran  through  the  throng.)  "  Ha!  ha!  so  you  would  n't 
like  it,  I  see, —  very  well,  very  well, —  take  care  then,  for  I  find 
you  insensible  to  my  moderate  reproofs,  you  hard-hearted  haythens, 
you  malefacthors  and  cruel  persecuthors,  that  won't  put  your  hands 
in  your  pockets  because  your  mild  and  quiet  poor  fool  of  a  pasthor 
has  no  tongue  in  his  head!  I  say  your  mild,  quiet,  poor  fool  of  a 
pasthor  (for  I  know  my  own  faults  partly,  God  forgive  me!)  and 
I  can't  spake  to  you  as  you  deserve,  you  hard-living  vagabonds, 
that  are  as  insensible  to  your  duties  as  you  are  to  the  weather.  I 
wish  it  was  sugar  or  salt  that  you  are  made  of,  and  then  the  rain 
might  melt  you  if  I  could  n't;  but  no,  them  naked  rafters  grins  in 
your  face  to  no  purpose, —  you  chate  the  house  of  God, —  but  take 
care,  maybe  you  won't  chate  the  Divil  so  aisy."  (Here  there  was  a 
sensation.)    "Ha!  ha!  that  makes  you  open  your  ears,  does  it? 


HUMOR  167 

More  shame  for  you;  you  ought  to  despise  that  dirty  enemy  of  man, 
and  depend  on  something  better, —  but  I  see  I  must  call  you  to  a 
sense  of  your  situation  with  the  bottomless  pit  undher  you,  and  no 
roof  over  you.  O  dear !  dear !  dear !  I  *m  ashamed  of  you, —  throth, 
if  I  had  time  and  sthraw  enough,  I  'd  rather  thatch  the  place  my- 
self than  lose  my  time  talking  to  you ;  sure  the  place  is  more  like 
a  stable  than  a  chapel.  O,  think  of  that !  —  the  house  of  God  to 
be  like  a  stable !  —  for  though  our  Redeemer  was  born  in  a  stable, 
that  is  no  reason  why  you  are  to  keep  His  house  always  like  one. 
"  And  now  I  will  read  you  the  list  of  subscribers,  and  it  will 
make  you  ashamed  when  you  hear  the  names  of  several  good  and 
worthy  Protestants  in  the  parish,  and  out  of  it,  too,  who  have 
given  more  than  the  Catholics." 

SUBSCRIPTION  LIST 

For  the  Repairs  and  Enlargement  of  Ballyslough-Gutthery  Chapel, 

Philip  Blake,  P.  P. 

Micky  Hickey,  £o  7^.  6d.  "  He  might  as  well  have  made  it 
ten  shillings;  but  half  a  loaf  is  betther  than  no  bread." 

"  Plaze  your  Reverence,"  says  Mick,  from  the  body  of  the 
chapel,  "  sure  seven  and  a  sixpence  is  more  than  half  of  ten  shil- 
lings."    (A  laugh.) 

"  O,  how  witty  you  are!  Faith,  if  you  knew  your  prayers  as 
well  as  your  arithmetic,  it  would  be  betther  for  you,  Micky." 

Here  the  Father  turned  the  laugh  against  Mick. 

Billy  Riley,  £0  3^.  4^.  "  Of  course  he  means  to  subscribe 
again  ?  " 

John  Dwyer,  £0  i^s.  "  That 's  something  like!  I  '11  be  bound 
he  's  only  keeping  back  the  odd  five  shillings  for  a  brush  full  o' 
paint  for  the  althar ;  it 's  as  black  as  a  crow,  instead  o'  being  as 
a  dove." 

He  then  hurried  over  rapidly  some  small  subscribers  as  follows: 

Peter  Hefferman,  £0  i^.  8J. 

James  Murphy,  £0  2s.  6d. 

Mat  Donovan,  £0  is.  sd, 

Luke  Danneliy,  £0  3s.  od. 

Jack  Quigly,  £0  2s.  id. 

Pat  Finnegan,  £0  2s.  2d. 

Edward  O'Connor,  Esq.,  £2  os.  od.  "  There  's  for  you!  Ed- 
ward O'Connor,  Esq.,—  a  Protestant  in  the  parish,  —  two  pounds.'* 


168  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Long  life  to  him!  '*  cried  a  voice  In  the  chapel. 

"Amen!"  said  Father  Phil;  "I'm  not  ashamed  to  be  clerk 
to  so  good  a  prayer/* 

Nicholas  Fagan,  £o  2s.  6d. 

Young  Nicholas  Fagan,  £o  5s.  od.  "  Young  Nick  is  betther 
than  owld  Nick,  you  see/' 

Tim  Doyle,  £o  75.  4^. 

Owny  Doyle,  £1  os.  od.  "Well  done,  Owny  na  Coppal, — 
you  deserve  to  prosper,  for  you  make  good  use  of  your  thrivings." 

Simon  Leary,  £0  2s.  6d;  Bridget  Murphy,  £0  10s.  od.  "  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yourself,  Simon ;  a  lone  widow-woman  gives 
more  than  you." 

Simon  answered,  "  I  have  a  large  family,  sir,  and  she  has  no 
children." 

"  That 's  not  her  fault,"  said  the  priest, — "  and  maybe  she  '11 
mend  o'  that  yet."  This  excited  much  merriment,  for  the  widow 
was  buxom,  and  had  recently  buried  an  old  husband,  and,  by  all 
accounts,  was  cocking  her  cap  at  a  handsome  young  fellow  in  the 
parish. 

Judy  Moylan,  ^o  5^.  od.  "Very  good,  Judy;  the  women  are 
behaving  like  gentlemen ;  they  '11  have  their  reward  in  the  next 
world." 

Pat  Finnerty,  £0  Ss-  4^.  "  I  'm  not  sure  if  it  is  Ss.  ^d  or 
2s.  4d.,  for  the  figure  is  blotted,  but  I  beh'eve  it  is  8^.  4^.^^ 

"It  was  three  and  fourpence  I  gave  your  Reverence,"  said  Pat 
from  the  crowd. 

"  Well,  Pat,  as  I  said  eight  and  fourpence,  you  must  not  let  me 
go  back  o'  my  word,  so  bring  me  five  shillings  next  week." 

"  Sure,  you  would  n't  have  me  pay  for  a  blot,  sir?  " 

"  Yis,  I  would, —  that 's  the  rule  of  backgammon,  you  know, 
Pat.    When  I  hit  the  mark,  you  pay  for  it." 

Here  his  Reverence  turned  round,  as  if  looking  fori'Some  one, 
and  called  out,  "RafFerty!  Rafferty!  RafEerty!  Where  are  you, 
Rafferty?" 

An  old,  gray-headed  man  appeared  bearing  a  large  plate,  and 
Father  Phil  continued, — 

"  There,  now,  be  active  —  I  'm  sending  him  among  you,  good 
people,  and  such  as  cannot  give  as  much  as  you  would  like  to  be 
read  before  your  neighbors,  give  what  little  you  can  towards  the 
repairs,  and  I  will  continue  to  read  out  the  names  by  way  of  en- 


HUMOR  169 

Gouragement  to  you,  and  the  next  name  I  see  is  that  of  Squire  Egan, 
Long  life  to  him!  " 

Squire  Egan^  J5  o^.  od.  ''  Squire  Egan  —  five  pounds  —  lis- 
ten to  that  —  a  Protestant  in  the  Parish!  —  five  pounds!  Faith, 
the  Protestants  will  make  you  ashamed  of  yourselves  if  you  do  n't 
take  care." 

Mrs.  Flanagan,  £2  os,  od,  "  Not  her  own  parish,  either,— 
a  kind  lady.'' 

James  Milligan,  of  Roundtown,  £1  o^.  od.  "  And  here  I  must 
remark  that  the  people  of  Roundtown  has  not  been  backward  in 
coming  forward  on  this  occasion.  I  have  a  long  list  from  Round- 
town, —  I  will  read  it  separate."  He  then  proceeded  at  a  great 
pace,  jumbling  the  town  and  the  pounds  and  the  people  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner:  "James  Milligan,  of  Roundtown,  one 
pound ;  Darby  Daly,  of  Roundtown,  one  pound ;  Sam  Finnigan,  of 
Roundtown,  one  pound;  James  Casey  of  Roundpound,  one  town? 
Kit  Dwyer,  of  Townpound,  one  round  —  pound,  I  mane;  Pat 
Roundpound  —  Pounden,  I  mane  —  Pat  Pounden  a  pound  of 
Pound  town  also  —  there  's  an  example  for  you !  — 

"  But  what  are  you  about,  Rafferty  ?  I  do  n't  like  the  sound 
of  that  plate  of  yours, —  you  are  not  a  good  gleaner, —  go  up  first 
into  the  gallery  there,  where  I  see  so  many  good-looking  bonnets, — 
I  suppose  they  will  give  something  to  keep  their  bonnets  out  of  the 
rain,  for  the  wet  will  be  into  the  gallery  next  Sunday  if  they  do  n't. 
I  think  that  is  Kitty  Crow  I  see,  getting  her  bit  of  silver  ready; 
them  ribbons  of  yours  cost  a  thrifle,  Kitty  — ^Well,  good  Christians, 
here  is  more  of  the  subscription  for  you." 

Matthew  Lavery,  £0  2s,  6d.  ''He  does  n't  belong  to  Round- 
town, —  Roundtown  will  be  renowned  in  the  future  ages  for  the 
support  of  the  church.  Mark  my  words !  Roundtown  will  prosper 
from  this  day  out, —  Roundtown  will  be  a  rising  place." 

Mark  Hennessy,  £0  2s.  6d,;  Luke  Clancy,  £0  2s.  6d.;  John 
Doolin,  £0  2s.  6d,  "  One  would  think  they  all  agreed  only  to 
give  two  and  sixpence  apiece.  And  they  comfortable  men,  too! 
And  look  at  their  names, —  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John, — 
the  names  of  the  blessed  Evangelists,  and  only  ten  shillings  among 
them !  O,  they  are  apostles  not  worthy  the  name, —  we  11  call  them 
the  poor  apostles  from  this  out!  "  (Here  a  low  laugh  ran  through 
the  chapel.)  "  Do  you  hear  that,  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and 
John?  Faith!  I  can  tell  you  that  name  will  stick  to  you."  (Here 
die  laugh  was  louder.) 


170  CHOICE  READINGS 

A  voice,  when  the  laugh  subsided,  exclaimed,  "  I  '11  make  it  ten 
shillings,  your  Reverence." 

"  Who  's  that?  "  said  Father  Phil. 

"  Hennessy,  your  Reverence." 

"  Very  well,  Mark.  I  suppose  Matthew,  Luke  and  John  will 
follow  your  example?  " 

"  We  will,  your  Reverence." 

"  Ha!  I  thought  you  made  a  mistake;  we  '11  call  you  now  the 
faithful  apostles, —  and  I  think  the  change  in  the  name  is  better 
than  seven  and  sixpence  apiece  to  you. 

"I  see  you  in  the  gallery  there,  Rafferty.  What  do  you  pass 
that  well-dressed  woman  for  ?  thry  back  —  Ha !  see  that,  she  had 
her  money  ready  if  you  only  asked  her  fot  it, —  do  n't  go  by  that 
other  woman  there  —  O  ho!  So  you  won't  give  anything,  ma'am? 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  There  is  a  woman  with 
an  elegant  sthraw  bonnet,  and  she  won't  give  a  farthing.  Well, 
now, —  after  that  remember, —  I  give  it  from  the  althar,  that  from 
this  day  out  sthraw  bonnets  pay  fi'penny  pieces." 

Thomas  Durfy,  Esq.,  £i  os.  od,  "  It 's  not  his  parish,  and  he  's 
a  brave  gentleman." 

Miss  Fanny  Dawson,  £i  os.  od,  "A  Protestant,  out  of  the 
parish,  and  a  sweet  young  lady,  God  bless  her !  O  faith,  the  Protes- 
tants  is  shaming  you !  " 

Dennis  Fannin,  £o  Js.  6d.  "  Very  good  indeed,  for  a  work- 
ing mason." 

Jemmy  Riley,  £o  55.  od.    "  Not  bad  for  a  hedge  carpenther.'* 

"  I  gave  you  ten,  plaze  your  Reverence,"  shouted  Jemmy, 
"  and  by  the  same  token,  you  may  remember  it  was  on  the  Nativity 
of  the  blessed  Vargin,  sir,  I  gave  you  the  second  five  shillin's." 

"  So  you  did,  Jemmy,"  cried  Father  Phil,  "  I  put  a  little  cross 
before  it,  to  remind  me  of  it ;  but  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  make  a  sick 
call  when  you  gave  it  to  me,  and  forgot  it  afther:  and  indeed  my»- 
self  does  n't  know  what  I  did  with  that  same  five  shillings." 

Here  a  pallid  woman,  who  was  kneeling  near  the  rails  of  the 
altar,  uttered  an  impassioned  blessing,  and  exclaimed,  "  O,  that 
was  the  very  five  shillings,  I  'm  sure,  you  gave  to  me  that  very  day, 
to  buy  some  little  comforts  for  my  poor  husband,  who  was  dying 
in  the  fever !  "  and  the  poor  woman  burst  into  loud  sobs  as  she 
spoke. 

A  deep  thrill  of  emotion  ran  through  the  flock  as  this  accidental 


HUMOR  171 

proof  of  their  poor  pastor's  beneficence  burst  upon  them;  and  as  an 
affectionate  murmur  began  to  arise  above  the  silence  which  that 
emotion  produced,  the  burly  Father  Philip  blushed  like  a  girl  at 
this  publication  of  his  charity,  and  even  at  the  foot  of  that  altar 
where  he  stood,  felt  something  like  shame  in  being  discovered  in 
the  commission  of  that  virtue  so  highly  commended  by  the  Provi- 
dence to  whose  worship  that  altar  was  raised.  He  uttered  a  hasty 
**  Whisht,  whisht!"  and  waved  with  his  outstretched  hands  his 
flock  into  silence. 

In  an  instant  one  of  those  sudden  changes  so  common  to  an 
Irish  assembly,  and  scarcely  credible  to  a  stranger,  took  place. 
The  multitude  was  hushed,  the  grotesque  of  the  subscription  list 
had  passed  away  and  was  forgotten,  and  that  same  man  and  that 
same  multitude  stood  in  altered  relations, —  they  were  again  a 
reverent  flock,  and  he  once  more  a  solemn  pastor;  the  natural 
play  of  his  nation's  mirthful  sarcasm  was  absorbed  in  a  moment 
in  the  sacredness  of  his  office;  and  with  a  solemnity  befitting  the 
highest  occasion,  he  placed  his  hands  together  before  his  breast, 
and,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  poured  forth  his  sweet  voice, 
with  a  tone  of  the  deepest  devotion,  in  that  reverential  call  for 
prayer,  '''  Orate,  fratresi " 

The  sound  of  a  multitude  gently  kneeling  down  followed,  like 
the  soft  breaking  of  a  quiet  sea  on  a  sandy  beach;  and  when 
Father  Philip  turned  to  the  altar  to  pray,  his  pent-up  feelings 
found  vent  in  tears,  and  while  he  prayed  he  wept. 

I  believe  such  scenes  as  this  are  not  of  unfrequent  occurrence 
in  Ireland, —  that  country  so  long  suffering,  so  much  maligned, 
and  so  little  understood. 

—  Samuel  Lover, 


A  FRENCHMAN  ON  MACBETH 

An  enthusiastic  French  student  of  Shakespeare  thus  comments 
on  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth:  — 

"Ah!  your  Mossieu'  Shak-es-pier !  He  is  gr-r-aa-nd  —  mys- 
terieuse  —  soo-blime!  You  'ave  reads  ze  Macabess? —  ze  scene 
of  ze  Mossieu'  Macabess  vis  ze  Vitch  —  eh?  Superb  sooblimitee! 
Wen  he  say  to  ze  Vitch,  '  Ar-r-roynt  ze,  Vitch!'  she  go  away: 
but  what  she  say  when  she  go  away?  She  say  she  will  do  s'omesing 
dat  aves  got  no  naame!    '  Ah,  ha! '  she  say,  *  I  go,  like  ze  r-r-aa-t 


172  CHOICE  READINGS 

vizoutzetaiUi//rildo!Ill^o/rilDo!'    Wat  she  do?    Ah, 

ha!  —  voila  le   graand   mysterieuse   Mossieu'    Shak-es-pier !     She 
not  say  what  she  do!  " 

This  was  ''grand,"  to  be  sure;  but  the  prowess  of  Macbeth, 
in  his  ''  bout ''  with  Macduff,  awakens  all  the  mercurial  French- 
man's martial  ardor:  — 

"  Mossieu*  Macabess,  he  see  him  come,  clos'  by;  he  say  (proud 
empressement) ,  'Come  o-o-n,  Mossieu*  Macduffs,  and  d  —  d  be 
he  who  first  say  Enoffsf  Zen  zey  fi-i-ght  —  moche.  Ah,  ha! 
—  voila!  Mossieu'  Macabess,  vis  his  br-r-ight  r-r-apier  'pink' 
him,  vat  you  call,  in  his  body.  He  'ave  gots  mal  d'estomac:  he 
say,  vis  grand  simplicite,  *  Enoffsl'  What  for  he  say  'Enoffs?' 
'Cause  he  got  enoffs  —  plaanty;  and  he  ^;ifpire,  r-r-ight  away, 
'mediately,  pretty  quick!  Ah,  mes  amis,  Mossieu'  Shak-es-pier  is 
rising  man  in  La  Belle  France !  " 

— 'Anonymous. 


THE  WHITE  SQUALL 

On  deck,  beneath  the  awning, 
I  dozing  lay  and  yawning; 
It  was  the  gray  of  dawning. 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose; 
And  above  the  funnel's  roaring. 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 
I  heard  the  cabin  snoring 

With  universal  nose. 
I  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting, — 
I  envied  their  disporting, — 
Vainly  I  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze. 

So  I  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight. 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight 

That  shot  across  the  deck; 
And  the  binnacle,  pale  and  steady. 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye, 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy 

That  whirled  from  the  chimney  neck. 


HUMOR  173 


In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen, 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 
The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 

Strange  company  we  harbored, 
We'd  a  hundred  Jews  to  larboard, 
Unwashed,   uncombed,  unbarbered, — 

Jews  black  and  brown  and  gray. 
With  terror  it  would  seize  ye. 
And  make  your  souls  uneasy 
To  see  those  Rabbis  greasy, 

Who  did  naught  but  scratch  and  pray. 
Their  dirty  children  puking, — 
Their  dirty  saucepans  cooking, — 
Their  dirty  fingers  hooking 

Their  swarming  fleas  away. 

To  starboard  Turks  and  Greeks  were, — 
Whiskered  and  brown  their  cheeks  were, 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were, — 

Their  pipes  did  puff  away; 
Each  on  his  mat  allotted 
In  silence  smoked  and  squatted, 
Whilst  round  their  children  trotted 

In  pretty,  pleasant  play. 
He  can't  but  smile  who  traces 
The  smiles  of  those  brown  faces, 
And  the  pretty,  prattling  graces 

Of  those  small  heathens  gay. 

And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling; 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling 
Went  the  brave  Iberia  bowling, 

Before  the  break  of  day, — 
When  a  squall,  upon  a  sudden, 
Came  o'er  the  waters  scudding; 
And  the  clouds  began  to  gather, 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather, 


174  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled, 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumble^f 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 

Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howling, 
And   the  poodle  dog  a  yowling. 
And  the  cocks  began  a  crowing, 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing. 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle, 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle; 
And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnelf, 
And  down  the  deck  in  runnels; 
And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all. 
From  the  seamen  in  the  fo'ksal 
To  the  stokers,  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places; 
And  the  captain  he  was  bawling, 
And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling, 
And  the  quarter-deck  tarpauling 
Was  shivered  in  the  squalling; 
And  the  passengers  awaken, 
Most  pitifully  shaken ; 
And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  hastens 
For  the  necessary  basins. 

Then  the  Greeks  they  groaned  and  quivered, 
And  they  knelt  and  moaned  and  shivered. 
As  the  plunging  waters  met  them. 
And  splashed  and  overset  them; 
And  they  called  in  their  emergence 
Upon  countless  saints  and  virgins; 
And  their  marrowbones  are  bended, 
And  they  think  the  world  is  ended. 
And  the  Turkish  women  forward 
Were   frightened   and  behorrored; 
And,  shrieking  and  bewildering, 


HUMOR  ^75 


The  mothers  clutched  their  children; 
The  men  sang  '*  Allah!  lUah! 
Mashallah  Bismillah!" 
As  the  warring  watei^  doused  them, 
And  splashed  them  and  soused  them; 
And  they  called  upon  the  Prophet, 
Who  thought  but  little  of  it. 

Then  all  the  fleas  in  Jewry- 
Jumped  up  and  bit  like  fury; 
And  the  progeny  of  Jacob 
Did  on  the  main-deck  wake  up, 
(I  wot  those  greasy  Rabbins 
Would  never  pay  for  cabins;) 
And  each  man  moaned  and  jabbered  in 
His  filthy  Jewish  gabardine, 
In  woe  and  lamentation, 
And  howling  consternation. 
And  the  splashing  water  drenches 
Their  dirty  brats  and  wenches; 
And  they  crawl  from  bales  and  benches, 
In  a  hundred  thousand  stenches. 

This  was  the  white  squall  famous, 

Which  latterly  overcame  us, 

And  which  all  will  well  remember. 

On  the  28th  September; 

When  a  Prussian  captain  of  Lancers 

(Those  tight-laced,  whiskered  prancers^ 

Came  on  the  deck  astonished, 

By  that  wild  squall  admonished. 

And  wondering  cried,  "  Potz  tausend, 
Wie  ist  der  Sturm  jetzt  brausend?" 
And  looked  at  Captain  Lewis, 
Who  calmly  stood  and  blew  his 
Cigar  in  all  the  bustle, 
And  scorned  the  tempest's  tussle. 
And  oft  we  Ve  thought  hereafter 
How  he  beat  the  storm  to  laughter; 


176  CHOICE  READINGS 

For  well  he  knew  his  vessel 

With  that  vain  wind  could  wrestle; 

And  when  a  wreck  we  thought  her, 

And  doomed  ourselves  to  slaughter, 

How  gayly  he  fought  her, 

And  through  the  hubbub  brought  her, 

And  as  the  tempest  caught  her. 

Cried,  '*  George,  some  brandy  and  water." 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended. 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea, — 
I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking. 
My  little  girls  were  waking. 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 

—  IVilliam  Makepeace  Thackeray* 


LARRIE  O'DEE 


Now  the  widow  McGee, 

And  Larrie  O'Dee, 
Had  two  little  cottages  out  on  the  green. 
With  just  room  enough  for  two  pig-pens  between. 
The  widow  was  young  and  the  widow  was  fair, 
With  the  brightest  of  eyes  and  the  brownest  of  hair; 
And  it  frequently  chanced,  when  she  came  in  the  morn 
With  the  swill  for  her  pig,  Larrie  came  with  the  corn. 
And  some  of  the  ears  that  he  tossed  from  his  hand, 
In  the  pen  of  the  widow  were  certain  to  land. 

One  morning  said  he: 
"  Och !    Misthress   McGee, 
It 's  a  waste  of  good  lumber,  this  runnin*  two  rigs, 
Wid  a  fancy  petition  betwane  our  two  pigs !  " 
"  Indade  sur,  it  is !  "  answered  Widow  McGee, 
With  the  sweetest  of  smiles  upon  Larrie  O'Dee. 


HUMOR 

**  And  thin,  it  looks  kind  o'  hard-hearted  and  mane, 
Kapin'  two  friendly  pigs  so  exsaidenly  near 
That  whiniver  one  grunts  the  other  can  hear, 

And  yit  kape  a  cruel  petition  betwane." 

"  Shwate  Widow  McGee/* 

Answered  Larrie  O'Dee, 
"  If  ye  fale  in  your  heart  we  are  mane  to  the  pigs, 
Ain't  we  mane  to  ourselves  to  be  runnin'  two  rigs? 
Och !  it  mad^  me  heart  ache  whin  I  paped  through  the  cracks 
Of  me  shanty,  lasht  March,  at  yez  shwingin'  yer  axe  ; 
An'  a  bobbin'  yer  head  an'  a  shtompin'  yer  fate, 
Wid  yer  purty  white  hands  jisht  as  red  as  a  bate, 
A-sphlittin'  yer  kindlin'-wood  out  in  the  shtorm. 
When  one  little  shtove  it  would  kape  us  both  warm! " 

"Now,  piggy,"  said  she; 

"  Larrie's  courtin'  o'  me, 
Wid  his  dilicate  tinder  allusions  to  you; 
So  now  yez  must  tell  me  jisht  what  I  must  do: 
For,  if  I  'm  to  say  yes,  shtir  the  swill  wid  yer  snout; 
But  if  I  'm  to  say  no,  ye  must  kape  yer  nose  out. 
Now  Larrie,  for  shame!  to  be  bribin'  a  pig 
By  a-tossin'  a  handful  of  corn  in  its  shwig!  " 
"  Me  darlint,  the  piggy  says  yes,"  answered  he. 
And  that  was  the  courtship  of  Larrie  O'Dee. 

—  fV.   W.  Fink. 


177 


THE  RATIONALISTIC  CHICKEN 

Most  strange! 

Most  queer  —  although  most  excellent  a  change! 

Shades  of  the  prison-house,  ye  disappear! 

My  fettered  thoughts  have  won  a  wider  range. 

And,  like  my  legs,  are  free; 
No  longer  huddled  up  so  pitiably; 
Free  now  to  pry  and  probe,  and  peep  and  peer, 

And  make  these  mysteries  out. 
Shall  a  free-thinking  chicken  live  in  doubt? 


178  CHOICE  READINGS 

For  now  in  doubt  undoubtedly  I  am  ; 

This  problem^s  very  heavy  on  my  mind; 
And  I  'm  not  one  to  either  shirk  or  sham ; 
I  won't  be  blinded,  and  I  won't  be  blind ! 

Now,  let  me  see: 
First,  I  would  know  how  did  I  get  in  there? 

Then,  where  was  I  of  yore? 
Besides,  why  didn't  I  get  out  before? 

Dear  me! 
Here  are  three  puzzles  (out  of  plenty  more), 
Enough  to  give  me  pip  upon  the  brain! 

But  let  me  think  again! 
How  do  I  know  I  ever  was  inside? 
Now  I  reflect,  it  is,  I  do  maintain, 
Less  than  my  reason,  and  beneath  my  pride, 

To  think  that  I  could  dwell 
In  such  a  paltry,  miserable  cell 

As  that  old  shell. 
Of  course  I  could  n't !     How  could  I  have  lain  — » 
Body  and  beak  and  feathers,  legs  and  wings. 
And  my  deep  heart's  sublime  imaginings  — 

In  there? 
I  meet  the  notion  with  profound  disdain; 
It's  quite  incredible;  since  I  declare 
(And  I  'm  a  chicken  that  you  can't  deceive), 
What  I  can't  understand  I  won't  believe! 

Where  did  I  come  from,  then?     Ah,  where  indeed? 
This  is  a  riddle  monstrous  hard  to  read. 

I  have  it !    Why,  of  course, 
All  things  are  moulded  by  some  plastic  force 
Out  of  some  atoms  somewhere  up  in  space, 
Fortuitously  concurrent  anyhow. 

There  now! 
That 's  plain  as  is  the  beak  upon  my  face. 

What's  that  I  hear? 
My  mother  cackling  at  me  —  just  her  way, 
So  prejudiced  and  ignorant,  I  say, 
So  far  behind  the  wisdom  of  the  day. 
What 's  old  I  can't  revere. 


HUMOR  179 

Hark  at  her.     "  You  're  a  silly  chick,  my  dear, 

That 's  quite  as  plain,  alack! 
As  is  the  piece  of  shell  upon  your  back!  " 
How  bigoted!    Upon  my  back,  indeed! 
I  don't  believe  it's  there; 
For  I  can't  see  it;  and  I  do  declare. 

For  all  her  fond  deceivin', 
What  I  can't  see  I  never  w^ill  believe  in! 

—  Anonymous, 


THE  FOXES'  TAILS 

(scotch  dialect) 

Minister,  Weel,  Sandy,  man ;  and  how  did  ye  like  the  sermon 
the  day? 

Precentor.  Eh? 

Minister.  I  say,  how  did  ye  like  the  sermon? 

Precentor.  Oh,  the  sermon  —  weel  —  a  —  a  —  the  sermon  — 
'od  —  a  —  I  maist  forget  how  I  likit  it. 

Minister.  D'ye  no  mind  the  sermon,  Sandy? 

Precentor.  Weel  —  I  —  wadna  jeest  like  to  say  that  I  didna 
mind  it,  but  — 

Minister.  D'ye  no  mind  the  text,  then  ? 

Precentor.  Ou,  ay  —  I  mind  the  text  weel  aneuch  —  ay,  I 
mind  the  text. 

Minister.  Well,  d'ye  no  mind  the  sermon? 

Precentor.  Bide  a  meenit,  bide  a  meenit  —  I  'm  thinkin'  — 
Hoots,  ay!     I  mind  the  sermon  noo  —  ay,  I  mind  it  fine. 

Minister.  What  d'ye  mind  about  it? 

Precentor.  Weel  —  weel  —  ye  said  the  world  was  lyin'  in 
wickedness. 

Minister.  Toots,  man!  any  fule  kens  that.  What  did  ye 
think  o'  the  discourse  as  a  whole? 

Precentor.  I  thocht  it  was  owre  lang. 

Minister.  Tut  —  tut  —  tut !  Weel,  what  did  ye  think  o't  in 
the  abstract? 

Precentor.  The  abstract  —  weel,  I  thocht  the  abstract  was 
rather  drumlie  noo  and  then,  as  a  whole,  like. 

Minister.  Man,  d'ye  understand  your  ain  language?     I  ask 


180  CHOICE  READINGS 

you,  what  was  your  opeenion  o*  the  nature  —  the  gist,  the  pith,  the 
marrow  o*  the  discourse? 

Precentor,  Ay,  jeest  that  —  weel,  it  was  —  it  was  evangelical. 

Minister.  Evangelical!  of  course  it  was  evangelical  —  was't 
no  more  than  that? 

Precentor,  Ou,  ay,  it  was  gey  an'  conneckit. 

Minister,  You  thickhead!  Was  the  sermon  good,  bad,  or  in- 
different—  there,  can  ye  fathom  that? 

Precentor,  Oh !  that 's  what  ye  Ve  been  speirin'  aboot  a'  the 
time,  is't  ?  What  for  did  ye  no  speak  plain  afore  ?  Weel,  it  was 
a  gude  sermon  —  'deed  it  was  the  best  I  ever  heard  ye  preach. 

Minister,  Hoot  toot  1     Sandy,  now  you  're  gaun  owre  far. 

Precentor,  Aweel,  aweel,  I  never  saw  sae  few  folk  sleepin' 
afore. 

Minister,  Oh!  and  are  you  in  the  habit.  Sir,  o'  fallin'  asleep 
during  my  pulpit  ministrations? 

Precentor,  I  wadna  say  but  what  I  tak  a  blink  noo  and  then. 

Minister,  Oh !  but  still  ye  thought  it  was  a  good  sermon  ? 

Precentor,  Ay,  it  was  a  hantle  better  than  the  lave. 

Minister.  I  'm  much  obleeged  to  you,  Sandy,  for  your  gude 
opinion. 

Precentor,  You  're  perfectly  welcome.  But,  at  the  same  time, 
if  ye  '11  excuse  me,  I  would  jeest  like  to  make  one  observation  aboot 
the  discoorse  the  day  —  and  in  fac'  aboot  a'  yer  discoorses. 

Minister.  Ay,  what's  that? 

Precentor,  Weel,  it's  raither  a  venturesome  pint  tae  handle; 
but,  if  ye  '11  forgie  the  freedom,  I  was  jeest  gaun  to  say  that  m 
your  discoorse  the  day  —  we'll  no  gang  ony  farther  than  the  one 
the  day  —  in  the  midst  o't,  like  —  when  ye  was  on  the  tap  o'  an 
illystratlon  —  it  struck  me  that  every  noo  and  then  —  but  ye  '11 
no  feel  offended  at  what  I  'm  gaun  to  say? 

Minister,  Say  awa,  man,  and  I  '11  tell  ye  after. 

Precentor,  Ay,  weel,  In  your  discoorse  the  day  —  every  noo 
and  again  —  in  the  midst  o't,  like  —  when  ye  was  expleenin'  some 
kittle  pint  out  o'  the  Scriptures  —  or  when  ye  was  in  the  heat  o'  an 
argyment,  or  that  —  or  else  when  ye  —  a  —  but  noo,  ye  're  sure 
ye  '11  no  be  offended  ? 

Minister.  Ye  donnart  idiot!  wull  ye  either  say  what  ye  Ve 
gotten  to  say,  or  else  lit  it  alane? 

Precentor,  I  'm  coming  to  the  pint  directly.     All  I  was  gaun 


HUMOR  181 

to  say  was  jeest  this,  that  every  noo  and  then  in  your  discoorsc  the 
day  —  I  dinna  say  oftener  than  noo  and  then  —  jeest  occasionally 

—  it  struck  me  that  there  was  maybe  —  frae  time  to  time jeest 

a  wee  bit  o'  exaggeration. 

Minister,  Exagger  —  what,  Sir? 

Precentor.  Weel,  maybe  that 's  ower  strong  a  word,  I  dinna 
want  to  offend  ye.     I  mean  jeest  —  amplification,  h'ke. 

Minister.  Exaggeration!  amplification!  What  the  deil  mis- 
chief d  ye  mean.  Sir?  Where  got  ye  haud  o'  sic  lang-nebbit  words 
as  these? 

Precentor.  There,  there,  there !  I  '11  no  say  anither  word.  I 
dinna  mean  to  rouse  ye  like  that.  All  I  meant  to  say  was  that 
you  jeest  streetched  the  pint  a  wee  bit. 

Minister.  Streetched  the  pint!  D  'ye  mean  to  say.  Sir,  that  I 
tell  leesf 

Precentor.  Oh!  no,  no,  no  —  but  I  didna  gang  sae  far  as  a' 
that. 

Minister.  Ye  went  quite  far  enough.  Sir.  Sandy,  answer  me 
this:  Are  ye  sayin'  this  a'  out  o'  your  ain  head,  or  did  somebody 
else  put  ye  up  till't?  Did  ye  ever  hear  the  Laird  say  I  was  in  the 
habit  o'  exaggeratin' ? 

Precentor.  I  wadna  say  but  what  he  has. 

Minister.  Did  ever  ye  hear  the  elders  say  I  amplified,  or 
streetched  the  pint,  or  whatever  ye  like  to  call  it  ? 

Precentor.  I  wadna  say  but  what  they  hae,  too. 

Minister.  Oh!  So  the  Laird,  and  the  elders,  and  the  whole 
o'  ye,  call  me  a  leear,  do  ye?  Haud  your  tongue,  Sandy,  ye  Ve 
said  ower  muckle  already;  it's  my  turn  to  speak  now.  Sandy, 
although  I  'm  your  minister,  still  I  'm  perfectly  willing  to  admit 
that  I  'm  a  sinful,  erring  creature,  like  any  one  o'  ye ;  and  the  only 
difference  between  me  and  the  rest  o'  ye  is  just  this:  I  Ve  been  to 
colleges  and  universities,  and  seats  o'  learnin',  and  I  've  got  some 
sense  in  my  heid ;  but  as  for  the  rest  o'  ye,  ye  're  a  puir,  miserable, 
ignorant  set  o'  creatures,  that  don't  know  your  right  hand  frae 
your  left;  that 's  all  the  difference  between  us.  At  the  same  time, 
as  I  said  before,  I  am  free  to  admit  that  I  myself  am  a  human 
being,  Sandy  —  only  a  human  being;  and  it's  just  possible  that 
being  obleeged,  Sawbbath  after  Sawbbath,  to  expound  the  Word 
to  sic  a  doited  set  o'  naturals, —  for  if  I  wasna  to  mak  ilka  thing 
as  big  as  a  barn  door,  ye  wadna  see  it  ava  —  I  say  it 's  just  possible 


182  CHOICE  READINGS 

that  I  may  have  slippit  into  a  kind  o*  habit  o'  magnifying  things; 
and  it  *s  a  bad  habit  to  get  into,  Sandy,  and  it 's  a  waur  thing  to  be 
accused  o't ;  and  therefore,  Sandy,  I  call  upon  you,  if  ever  ye  should 
hear  me  say  another  word  out  o'  joint,  to  pull  me  up  there  and 
then. 

Precentor.  Losh!  Sir;  but  how  could  I  pull  ye  up  i'  the  kirk? 

Minister,  Ye  can  give  me  some  sort  o*  a  signal. 

Precentor.  How  could  I  gie  ye  a  signal  i'  the  kirk? 

Minister.  Ye  could  make  some  kind  o*  a  noise. 

Precentor.  A  noise  i'  the  kirk? 

Minister.  Ay.  Ye  *re  sittin*  just  down  aneath  me,  ye  ken ;  so 
ye  might  just  put  up  your  heid,  and  give  a  bit  whustle  (whistles), 
like  that. 

Precentor.  A  whustle! 

Minister.  Ay,  a  whustle!    What  ails  the  fule? 

Precentor.  What!  whustle  i'  the  Lord's  hoose  on  the  Lord's 
day?    I  never  heard  o*  sic  a  thing  i  a'  my  days! 

Minister.  Now,  now  —  ye  needna  mak  such  a  big  disturbance 
about  it.  I  dinna  want  ye  to  blaw  off  a  great  overpowering 
whustle,  and  frighten  a'  the  folk  out  o'  the  kirk,  but  just  a  wee 
bit  o'  a  whustle  that  naebody  but  our  two  selves  could  hear. 

Precentor.     But  would  it  no  be  an  awfu'  sin? 

Minister.  Hoots,  man ;  doesna  the  wind  whustle  on  the  Sawb- 
bath? 

Precentor.  Ay;  I  never  thought  o'  that  afore.  Yes,  the  wind 
whustles. 

Minister.  Well,  just  a  wee  bit  soughing  whustle  like  the  wind 
(whistles  softly). 

Precentor.  Well,  if  there  's  nae  harm  in  't,  1 11  do  my  best. 

So,  ultimately,  it  was  agreed  between  the  minister  and  precen- 
tor, that  the  first  word  of  exaggeration  from  the  pulpit  was  to 
elicit  the  signal  from  the  desk  below. 

Next  Sunday  came;  the  sermon  had  been  rigorously  trimmed, 
and  the  parson  seated  himself  in  the  pulpit  with  a  radiant  smile, 
as  he  thought  of  the  prospective  discomfiture  of  Sandy.  Sandy 
sat  down  as  imperturbable  as  usual,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
hand  nor  to  the  left.  Had  the  minister  only  stuck  to  his  sermon 
that  day,  he  would  have  done  very  well,  and  have  had  the  laugh 
against  Sandy  which  he  anticipated  at  the  end  of  the  service.  But 
it  was  his  habit,  before  the  sermon,  to  read  a  chapter  from  the 


HUMOR  183 

Bible,  adding  such  remarks  and  explanations  of  his  own  as  he 
thought  necessary.  He  generally  selected  such  passages  as  con- 
tained a  number  of  kittle  pints,  so  that  his  marvellous  powers  of 
eloocidation  might  be  called  into  play.  On  the  present  occasion 
he  had  chosen  one  that  bristled  with  diiBculties.  It  was  that  chap- 
ter which  describes  Samson  as  catching  three  hundred  foxes,  tying 
them  tail  to  tail,  setting  firebrands  in  their  midst,  starting  them 
among  the  standing  corn  of  the  Philistines,  and  burning  it  down. 
As  he  closed  the  description,  he  shut  the  book,  and  commenced  the 
eloocidation  as  follows: 

"  My  dear  friends,  I  daresay  you  have  been  wondering  in  your 
minds  how  it  was  possible  that  Samson  could  catch  three  hundred 
foxes.  You  or  me  couldna  catch  one  fox,  let  alone  three  hun- 
dred—  the  beasts  run  so  fast.  It  takes  a  great  company  of  dogs 
and  horses  and  men  to  catch  a  fox,  and  they  do  not  always  catch 
it  then  —  the  cra*ter  whiles  gets  away.  But  lo  and  behold !  here 
we  have  one  single  man,  all  by  himself,  catching  three  hundred  of 
them.  Now  how  did  he  do  it  ?  —  that  *s  the  pint ;  and  at  first  sight 
it  looks  a  gey  an'  kittle  pint.  But  it 's  not  so  kittle  as  it  looks, 
my  friends ;  and  if  you  give  me  your  undivided  attention  for  a  few 
minutes  I  '11  clear  away  the  whole  difficulty,  and  make  what  now 
seems  dark  and  incomprehensible  to  your  uninstructed  minds  as 
clear  as  the  sun  in  his  noonday  meridian. 

"  Well,  then,  we  are  told  in  the  Scriptures  that  Samson  was  the 
strongest  man  that  ever  lived;  and,  furthermore,  we  are  told  in 
the  chapter  next  after  the  one  we  have  been  reading,  that  he  was 
a  very  polite  man;  for  when  he  was  in  the  house  of  Dagon,  he 
bowed  with  all  his  might;  and  if  some  of  you,  my  freends,  would 
only  bow  with  half  your  might  it  would  be  all  the  better  for  you. 
But,  although  we  are  told  all  this,  we  are  not  told  that  he  was  a 
great  runner.  But  if  he  catched  these  three  hundred  foxes  he 
must  have  been  a  great  runner,  an  awful  runner;  in  fact,  the 
greatest  runner  that  ever  was  born.  But,  my  friends  —  an'  here  's 
the  eloocidation  o'  the  matter  —  ye '11  please  bear  this  in  mind, 
that  although  we  are  not  told  he  was  the  greatest  runner  that  ever 
lived,  still  we  're  not  told  he  wasna;  and  therefore  I  contend  that 
we  have  a  perfect  right  to  assume,  by  all  the  laws  of  Logic  and 
Scientific  History,  that  he  was  the  fastest  runner  that  ever  was 
born ;  and  that  was  how  he  catched  his  three  hundred  foxes ! 

"  But  after  we  get  rid  of  this  difficulty,  my  freends,  another 


184  CHOICE  READINGS 

crops  up  —  after  he  has  catched  his  three  hundred  foxes,  how  does 
he  manage  to  keep  them  all  together?  This  looks  almost  as  kit- 
tle a  pint  as  the  other  —  to  some  it  might  look  even  kittler ;  but 
if  you  will  only  bring  your  common  sense  to  bear  on  the  ques- 
tion, the  difficulty  will  disappear  like  the  morning  cloud,  and  the 
early  dew  that  withereth  away. 

"  Now  you  will  please  bear  in  mind,  in  the  first  places  that  it 
was  foxes  that  Samson  catched.  Now  we  do  n^t  catch  foxes,  as  a 
general  rule,  in  the  streets  of  a  toon;  therefore  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  Samson  catched  them  in  the  country,  and  if  he 
catched  them  in  the  country  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  *bided 
in  the  country;  and  if  he  'bided  in  the  country  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  he  lived  at  a  farm-house.  Now  at  farm-houses  we  have 
stables,  and  byres,  and  coach-houses,  and  barns,  and  therefore  we 
may  now  consider  it  a  settled  pint,  that  as  he  catched  his  foxes, 
one  by  one,  he  stapped  them  into  a  good  sized  barn,  and  steeked 
the  dooi  and  locked  it, —  here  we  overcome  the  second  stumbling 
block.  But  no  sooner  have  we  done  this,  than  a  third  rock  of  of- 
fense loups  up  to  fickle  us.  After  he  has  catched  his  foxes ;  after  he 
has  got  them  all  snug  in  the  barn  under  lock  and  key  —  how  in 
the  world  did  he  tie  their  tails  thegitherf  There  is  a  fickler. 
You  or  me  couldna  tie  two  o*  their  tails  thegither  —  let  alone  three 
hundred;  for,  not  to  speak  about  the  beasts  girnning  arid  biting 
us  a'  the  time  we  were  tying  them,  the  tails  themselves  are  not  long 
enough.    How  then  was  he  able  to  tie  them  all?    That 's  the  pint 

—  and  it  is  about  the  kit t lest  pint  you  or  me  has  ever  had  to  elooci- 
date.  Common  sense  is  no  good  to't.  No  more  is  Latin  or  Greek ; 
no  more  is  Logic  or  Metaphysics;  no  more  is  Natural  Philosophy 
or  Moral  Philosophy ;  no  more  is  Rhetoric  or  Bell 's  Letters,  even^ 
and  I  Ve  studied  them  a'  myseP;  but  it  is  a  great  thing  for  poor, 
ignorant  folk  like  you,  that  there  has  been  great  and  learned  men 
who  have  been  to  colleges,  and  universities,  and  seats  o'  learning 

—  the  same  as  myseF,  ye  ken  —  and  instead  o'  going  into  the 
kirk,  like  me,  or  into  physic,  like  the  doctor,  or  into  law,  like  the 
lawyer,  they  have  gone  travelling  into  foreign  parts;  and  they 
have  written  books  o'  their  travels;  and  we  can  read  their  books. 
Now,  among  other  places,  some  of  these  learned  men  have 
traveled  into  Canaan,  and  some  into  Palestine,  and  some  few  into 
the  Holy  Land;  and  these  last  mentioned  travellers  tell  us,  that  in 
these  Eastern  or  Oriental  climes,  the  foxes  there  are  a  total  dif* 


HUMOR  185 

ferent  breed  o'  cattle  athegither  frae  our  foxes;  that  they  are 
great,  big  beasts  —  and,  what 's  the  most  astonishing  thing  about 
them,  and  what  helps  to  explain  this  wonderful  feat  of  Samson's, 
is,  that  they  Ve  all  got  most  extraordinary  long  tails;  in  fact,  these 
Eastern  travellers  tell  us  that  these  foxes*  tails  are  actually  forty 
feet  long. 

Precentor  (whistles). 

Minister  (somewhat  disturbed).  "Oh!  I  ought  to  say  that 
there  are  other  travellers,  and  later  travellers  than  the  travellers 
I  Ve  been  talking  to  you  about,  and  they  say  this  statement  is  rather 
an  exaggeration  on  the  whole,  and  that  these  foxes'  tails  are  never 
more  than  twenty  feet  long. 

Precentor  (whistles). 

Minister  (disturbed  and  confused).  "  Be  —  be  —  before  I  leave 
this  subject  a'thegither,  my  friends,  I  may  just  add  that  there  has 
been  a  considerable  diversity  o'  opinion  about  the  length  o'  these 
animals'  tails.  Ye  see  one  man  says  one  thing,  and  anither,  anither; 
and  I  've  spent  a  good  lot  o'  learned  research  in  the  matter  mysel' ; 
and  after  examining  one  authority,  and  anither  authority,  and  put- 
ting one  authority  agin  the  ither,  I  've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
these  foxes'  tails,  on  an  average,  are  seldom  more  than  fifteen  and 
a  half  feet  long. 

Precentor  (whistles). 

Minister  (Angrily).  "Sandy  McDonald,  I'll  no  tak  anither 
inch  aff  o'  the  beasts'  tails,  even  gin  ye  should  whustle  every  tooth 
oot  o'  your  head.  Do  ye  think  the  foxes  o'  the  Scriptures  had  na 
tails  at  a'  ?  " 

—  Anonymous. 


A  CRITICAL  SITUATION.    ^ 

As  Harris  and  I  sat,  one  morning,  at  one  of  the  small  round 
tables  of  the  great  Hote  Schweitzerhof  in  Lucerne,  watching  the 
crowd  of  people,  coming,  going,  or  breakfasting,  and  at  the  same 
time  endeavoring  to  guess  where  such  and  such  a  party  came  from, 
I  said: 

"  There  is  an  American  party." 

"  Yes  —  but  name  the  Sta  e." 

I  named  one  State,  he  named  another.  We  agreed  upon  one 
thing,  however  —  that  the  >oung  girl  with  the  party  was  very 


186  CHOICE  READINGS 

beautiful  and  very  tastefully  dressed.  But  we  disagreed  as  to 
her  age.  I  said  she  was  eighteen,  Harris  said  she  was  twenty. 
The  dispute  between  us  waxed  warm,  and  I  finally  said,  with  a 
pretense  of  being  in  earnest  — 

**  Well,  there  is  one  way  to  settle  the  matter — ^I  will  go  and 
ask  her." 

Harris  said,  sarcastically,  "  Certainly,  that  is  the  thing  to  do. 
All  you  need  to  do  is  to  use  the  common  formula  over  here :  go  and 
say,  '  I  m  an  American ! '  Of  course,  she  will  be  glad  to  see 
you." 

Then  he  hinted  that  perhaps  there  was  no  great  danger  of  my 
venturing  to  speak  to  her. 

I  said,  ''  I  was  only  talking  —  I  did  n't  intend  to  approach  her, 
but  I  see  that  you  do  not  know  what  an  intrepid  person  I  am.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  any  woman  that  walks.  I  will  go  and  speak 
to  this  young  girl." 

The  thing  I  had  in  mind  was  not  difficult.  I  meant  to  ad- 
dress her  in  the  most  respectful  way  and  ask  her  to  pardon  me  if 
her  strong  resemblance  to  a  former  acquaintance  of  mine  was  de- 
ceiving me ;  and  when  she  should  reply  that  the  name  I  mentioned 
was  not  the  name  she  bore,  I  meant  to  beg  pardon  again,  most 
respectfully,  and  retire.  There  would  be  no  harm  done.  I  walked 
to  her  table,  bowed  to  the  [gentleman,  then  turned  to  her,  and 
was  about  to  begin  my  little  speech  when  she  exclaimed: 

**  I  knew  I  was  n*t  mistaken  —  I  told  John  it  was  you!  John 
said  it  probably  was  n*t,  but  I  knew  I  was  right.  I  said  you  would 
recognize  me  presently  and  come  over;  and  I  'm  glad  you  did,  for 
I  should  n't  have  felt  much  flattered  if  you  had  gone  out  of  this 
room  without  recognizing  me.  Sit  down,  sit  down  —  how  odd 
it  is  —  you  arc  the  last  person  I  was  ever  expecting  to  see  again." 

This  was  a  stupefying  surprise.  It  took  my  wits  clear  away, 
for  an  instant.  However,  we  shook  hands  cordially  all  around, 
and  sat  down.  But  truly  this  was  the  tightest  place  I  ever  was  in. 
I  seemed  to  vaguely  remember  the  girFs  face,  now,  but  I  had  no 
idea  where  I  had  seen  it  before,  or  what  name  belonged  with  it. 
1  immediately  tried  to  get  up  a  diversion  about  Swiss  scenery,  to 
keep  her  from  launching  into  topics  that  might  betray  that  I  did 
not  know  her ;  but  it  was  of  no  use,  she  went  right  along  upon  mat- 
ters which  interested  her  more: 

"O  dear!  what  a  night  that  was,  when  the  sea  washed  the 
forward  boats  away  —  do  you  remember  it  ?  " 


HUMOR  187 

"  Oh !  do  n't  I !  "  said  I  —  but  I  did  n^    I  wished  the  sea  had 

washed  the  rudder  and  the  smoke-stack  and  the  captain  away 

then  I  could  have  located  this  questioner. 

"  And  do  n't  you  remember  how^  frightened  poor  Mary  was, 
and  how  she  cried  ?  " 

''  Indeed  I  do !  "  said  I.     "  Dear  me,  how  it  all  comes  back !  " 

I  fervently  wished  it  would  come  back  —  but  my  memory  was 
a  blank.  The  w^ise  way  would  have  been  to  frankly  own  up ;  but 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  that,  after  the  young  girl  had 
praised  me  so  for  recognizing  her ;  so  I  went  on,  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  mire,  hoping  for  a  chance  clue  but  never  getting  one.  The 
unrecognizable  continued,  with  vivacity: 

"  Do  you  know,  George  married  Mary  after  all?  '* 

"Why,  no!     Did  he?" 

"  Indeed  he  did.  He  said  he  did  not  believe  she  was  half  as 
much  to  blame  as  her  father  was,  and  I  thought  he  was  right. 
Didn't  you?" 

"  Of  course  he  was.  It  wzs  a  perfectly  plain  case,  I  always 
said  so." 

"  Why,  no  you  did  n't  —  at  least  that  summer." 

''  Oh!  no,  not  that  summer.  No,  you  are  perfectly  right  about 
that.     It  was  the  following  winter  that  I  said  it." 

"  Well,  as  it  turned  out,  Mary  was  not  in  the  least  to  blame 
—  it  was  all  her  father's  fault  —  at  least  his  and  old  Darley's." 

It  was  necessary  to  say  something  —  so  I  said : 

"  I  always  regarded  Darley  as  a  troublesome  old  thing." 

"  So  he  was ;  but  then  they  always  had  a  great  affection  for 
him,  although  he  had  so  many  eccentricities.  You  remember  that 
when  the  weather  was  the  least  cold  he  would  try  to  come  into 
the  house." 

I  was  rather  afraid  to  proceed.  Evidently  Darley  was  not  a 
man  —  he  must  be  some  other  kind  of  animal  —  possibly  a  dog, 
maybe  an  elephant.  However,  tails  are  common  to  all  animals, 
so  I  ventured  to  say: 

"  And  vi^hat  a  tail  he  had !  " 

"  One!     He  had  a  thousand!  " 

This  was  bewildering.  I  did  not  quite  know  vi^hat  to  say,  so 
I  only  said: 

"  Yes,  he  was  pretty  well  fixed  in  the  matter  of  tails." 

"  For  a  negro,  and  a  crazy  one  at  that,  I  should  say  he  w^as," 
said  she. 


188  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  was  getting  pretty  sultry  for  me.  I  said  to  myself,  "  Is  it 
possible  she  is  going  to  stop  there,  and  wait  for  me  to  speak?  If 
she  does,  the  conversation  is  blocked.  A  negro  with  a  thousand 
tails  is  a  topic  which  a  person  cannot  talk  upon  fluently  and  in- 
structively without  more  or  less  preparation.  As  to  diving  rashly 
into  such  a  vast  subject — '' 

But  here,  to  my  gratitude,  she  interrupted  my  thought  by 
saying : 

"  Yes,  when  it  came  to  tales  of  his  crazy  woes,  there  was  sim- 
ply no  end  to  them  if  anybody  would  listen.  His  own  quarters 
were  comfortable  enough,  but  when  the  weather  was  cold,  the 
family  was  sure  to  have  his  company  —  nothing  could  keep  him 
out  of  the  house.  But  they  always  bore  it  kindly  because  he  had 
saved  Tom's  life  years  before.    You  remember  Tom?  " 

"  Oh !  perfectly.     Fine  fellow  he  was,  too." 

"  Yes,  he  was.    And  what  a  pretty  little  thing  his  child  was?  " 

"  You  may  well  say  that.     I  never  saw  a  prettier  child." 

"  I  used  to  delight  to  pet  it  and  dandle  it  and  play  with  it." 

"  So  did  I." 

"  You  named  it.  What  was  that  name  ?  I  can't  call  it  to 
/nind." 

It  appeared  to  me  that  the  ice  was  getting  pretty  thin  here* 
I  would  have  given  something  to  know  what  the  child's  sex  was. 
However,  I  had  the  good  luck  to  think  of  a  name  that  would  fit 
either  sex  —  so  I  brought  it  out: 

"  I  named  it  Frances." 

*'  For  a  relative,  I  suppose?  But  you  named  the  one  that  died, 
too  —  the  one  that  I  never  saw.    What  did  you  call  that  one  ?  '' 

I  was  out  of  neutral  names,  but  as  the  child  was  dead  and  she 
had  never  seen  it,  I  thought  I  might  risk  a  name  for  it  and  trust 
to  luck;  therefore  I  said: 

"  I  called  that  one  Thomas  Henry." 

She  said,  musingly: 

**  That  is  very  singular  —  very  singular." 

I  sat  still  and  let  the  cold  sweat  run  down.  I  was  in  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,  but  I  believed  I  could  worry  through  if  she 
would  n't  ask  me  to  name  any  more  children.  I  wondered  where 
the  lightning  was  going  to  strike  next.  She  was  still  ruminating 
over  that  last  child's  title,  but  presently  she  said : 

*'  I  have  always  been  sorry  you  were  away  at  the  time  —  I 
would  have  had  vou  name  my  child.'* 


HUMOR  189 

"  Your  child!    Are  you  married?  " 

"  I  have  been  married  thirteen  years/' 

"  Christened,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  married.    The  youth  by  your  side  is  my  son." 

"  It  seems  incredible  —  even  impossible.  I  do  not  mean  any 
harm  by  it,  but  would  you  mind  telling  me  if  you  are  any  over 
eighteen ?  —  that  is  to  say,  will  you  tell  me  how  old  you  are?  " 

"  I  was  just  nineteen  the  day  of  the  storm  we  were  talking 
about.     That  was  my  birthday.^' 

That  did  not  help  matters  much,  as  I  did  not  know  the  date 
of  the  storm.  I  tried  to  think  of  some  non-committal  thing  to 
say,  to  keep  up  my  end  of  the  talk  and  render  my  poverty  in  the 
matter  of  reminiscences  as  little  noticeable  as  possible,  but  I 
seemed  to  be  about  out  of  non-committal  things.  I  was  about  to 
say,  ''  You  have  n't  changed  a  bit  since  then  '' —  but  that  was 
risky.  I  thought  of  saying,  "  You  have  improved  ever  so  much 
since  then" — but  that  would  not  answer,  of  course.  I  was 
about  to  try  a  shy  at  the  weather,  for  a  saving  change,  when  the 
girl  slipped  in  ahead  of  me  and  said: 

"  How  I  have  enjoyed  this  talk  over  those  happy  old  times  — 
have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  have  spent  such  a  half  hour  in  all  my  life  before!  " 
said  I,  with  emotion ;  and  I  could  have  added,  with  a  near  approach 
to  truth,  '*  and  I  would  rather  be  scalped  than  spend  another 
one  like  it."  I  was  grateful  to  be  through  with  the  ordeal,  and 
was  about  to  make  my  good-byes  and  get  out,  when  the  girl  said : 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  that  is  ever  so  puzzling  to  me." 

"Why,  what  is  that?" 

"  That  dead  child's  name.    What  did  you  say  it  was?  " 

Here  was  another  balmy  place  to  be  in;  I  had  forgotten  the 
child's  name;  I  had  n't  imagined  it  would  be  needed  again.  How- 
ever, I  had  to  pretend  to  know,  anyway,  so  I  said : 

"  Joseph  William." 

The  youth  at  my  side  corrected  me  and  said : 

"No  — Thomas  Henry." 

I  thanked  him  —  in  words  —  and  said,  with  trepidation : 

"  Oh !  yes  —  I  w^as  thinking  of  another  child  that  I  named  — 
I  have  named  a  great  many,  and  I  got  them  confused  —  this  one 
was  named  Henry  Thompson  —  " 

"Thomas  Henry,"  calmly  interposed  the  boy. 


190  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  thanked  him  again  —  stricdy  in  words  —  and  stammered 
out: 

"  Thomas  Henry  —  yes,  Thomas  Henry  was  the  poor  child's 
name.  I  named  him  for  Thoeias-er-Thomas  Carlyle,  the  great 
author,  you  know  —  and  Henry-er-er-Henry  the  Eighth.  The 
parents  were  very  grateful  to  have  a  child  named  Thomas  Henry." 

**  That  makes  it  more  singular  than  ever,''  murmured  my  beau- 
tiful friend. 

"Does  it?     Why?" 

"  Because  when  the  parents  speak  of  that  child  now,  they 
always  call,  it  Susan  Amelia." 

That  spiked  my  gun.  I  could  not  say  anything.  I  was  en- 
tirely out  of  verbal  obliquities;  to  go  further  would  be  to  lie,  and 
that  I  would  not  do ;  so  I  simply  sat  still  and  sufFered  —  sat  mutely 
and  resignedly  there,  and  sizzled  —  for  I  was  being  slowly  fried 
to  death  in  my  own  blushes.  Presently  the  enemy  laughed  a 
happy  laugh  and  said: 

"  I  have  enjoyed  this  talk  over  old  times,  but  you  have  not. 
I  saw  very  soon  that  you  were  only  pretending  to  know  me,  and 
so  as  I  had  wasted  a  compliment  on  you  in  the  beginning,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  punish  you.  And  I  have  succeeded  pretty  well. 
I  was  glad  to  see  that  you  knew  George  and  Tom  and  Darley, 
for  phad  never  hdard  of  them  before,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
sure  that  you  had ;  and  I  was  glad  to  learn  the  names  of  those 
imaginary  children,  too.  One  can  get  quite  a  fund  of  informa- 
tion out  of  you  if  one  goes  at  it  cleverly.  Mary  and  the  storm, 
and  the  sweeping  away  of  the  forward  boats,  were  facts  —  all  the 
rest  was  fiction.  Mary  was  my  sister;'!^  ^  '^  -  -  '^'^■■''ry 
.    Now  do  you  remember  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  do  remember  you  now ;  and  you  are  as 
hard-hearted  as  you  were  thirteen  years  ago  in  that  ship,  else  you 
would  n't  have  punished  me  so.  You  have  n't  changed  your  nature 
nor  your  person,  in  any  way  at  all ;  you  look  just  as  young  as  you 
did  then,  you  are  just  as  beautiful  as  you  were  then,  and  you  have 
transmitted  a  deal  of  your  comeliness  to  this  fine  boy.  There  — 
if  that  speech  moves  you  any,  let 's  fly  the  flag  of  truce,  with  the 
understanding  that  I  am  conquered  and  confess  it." 

All  of  which  was  agreed  to  and  accomplished  on  the  spot. 

—  Samuel  L,  Clemens. 


HUMOR  191 

"  IMPH-M  " 

When  I  was  a  laddie  lang  syne  at  the  schule, 
The  maister  aye  ca'd  me  a  dunce  an'  a  fule; 
For  somehoo  his  words  I  could  ne'er  un'erstan*, 
Unless  when  he  bawled,  "  Jamie,  haud  oot  yer  han' !  " 

Then  I  gloom'd,  and  said,  "  Imph-m,'* 

I  glunch'd,  and  said,  "  Imph-m  "  — 
I  wasna  owre  proud,  but  owre  dour  to  say  —  A-y-c ! 

Ae  day  a  queer  word,  as  lang-nebbits'  himseF, 
He  vow'd  he  would  thrash  me  if  I  wadna  spell, 
Quo  I,  "  Maister  Quill,"  wi'  a  kin'  o'  swither, 
"  1 11  spell  ye  the  word  if  ye  '11  spell  me  anither: 

Let's  hear  ye  spell  *  Imph-m,' 

That  common  word  '  Imph-m,' 
That  auld  Scotch  word  *  Imph-m,'  ye  ken  it  means  A-y-e !  " 

Had  ye  seen  hoo  he  glour'd,  hoo  he  scratched  his  big  pate. 
An'  shouted,  "  Ye  villain,  get  oot  o'  my  gate! 
Get  afif  to  your  seat!  yer  the  plague  o'  the  schule! 
The  de'il  o'  me  kens  if  yer  maist  rogue  or  fule !  " 

But  I  only  said,  "  Imph-m," 

That  pawkie  word,  "  Imph-m," 
He  couldna  spell  "  Imph-m,"  that  stands  for  an  A-y-c ! 

An'  when  a  brisk  wooer,  I  courted  my  Jean  — 
O'Avon's  braw  lasses  the  pride  an'  the  queen  — 
When  neath  my  gray  plaidie,  wi'  heart  beatin'  fain, 
I  speired  in  a  whisper  if  she'd  be  my  ain. 

She  blushed,  an'  said,  "  Imph-m," 

That  charming  word  "  Imph-m," 
A  thousan'  times  better  an'  sweeter  than  A-y-e! 

Just  ae  thing  I  wanted  my  bliss  to  complete  — 
Ae  kiss  frae  her  rosy  mou',  couthie  an'  sweet  — 
But  a  shake  o'  her  head  was  her  only  reply  — 
Of  course,  that  said  No,  but  I  kent  she  meant  A-y-e, 

For  her  twa  een  said  "  Imph-m," 

Her  red  lips  said,  "  Imph-m," 
Her  hale  face  said  "  Imph-m,"  an  "  Imph-m  "  means  A-y-e! 

—  Anonymous* 


192  CHOICE  READINGS 

THE  ONE-HOSS  SHAY;  OR,  THE  DEACON'S 
MASTERPIECE 

A  LOGICAL  STORY 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way, 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then  of  a  sudden,  it  —  ah,  but  stay, 

1 11  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits. 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits, — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that  I  say? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive, — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down. 
And  Braddock*s  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  earthquake  day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now,  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what. 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot, — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill. 

In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill. 

In  screw,  bolt,  thorough-brace, —  lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will, — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without, — 

And  that 's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

A  chaise  breaks  down  but  does  n't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  Deacons  do, 

With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "  I  tell  yeou!') 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

*N'  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun'; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn't  break  daown; 


HUMOR  198 

—  "  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  It 's  mighty  plain 
That  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 
'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  could  n't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke, — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash  from  the  straightest  trees; 

The  panels  of  whitewood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler^s  ellum," — 

Last  of  its  timber, —  they  could  n't  sell  'em, 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips. 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin,  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue; 

Thorough-brace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." — 

"  There!  "  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she  11  dew!  " 

Do!  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray. 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren, —  where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake  day! 

Eighteen  hundred;  —  it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten;  — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  diey  called  it  then. 


tJW  CHOICE  READINGS 

Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came ;  — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  come  fifty,  and  fifty-five. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there  's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large; 

Take  it. —  You  're  welcome. —  No  extra  charge.) 

First  of  November, —  the  Earthquake  day, — 
There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 
A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay. 
But  nothing  local  as  one  may  say. 
There  could  n't  be, —  for  the  Deacon's  art 
Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 
That  there  was  n't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 
For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 
And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more, 
And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 
And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 
And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five ! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

"  Huddup !  "  said  the  parson. —  Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text, — 

Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the  —  Moses  was  coming  next. 

Ail  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

Close  by  the  meetin'-house  on  the  hill. 

—  First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 


HUMOR  295 

Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill, — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 
At  half-past  nine  by  the  meetin'-house  clock,— 
Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 
—  What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you  're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once, — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first, — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 
Logic  is  logic.    That 's  all  I  say. 

—  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


CHIQUITA 


Beautiful!     Sir,  you  may  say  so.     Thar  isn't  her  match  in  the 

county,^ — 
Is  thar,  old  gal  ?    Chiquita,  my  darling,  my  beauty ! 
Feel  of  that  neck,  sir, —  thar  's  velvet !     Whoa !     Steady  —  ah, 

will  you?  you  vixen! 
Whoa!  I  say.     Jack,  trot  her  out;  let  the  gentleman  look  at  her 

paces. 

Morgan !  —  She  ain't  nothin'  else,   and  I  've  got  the  papers  to 

prove  it. 
Sired  by  Chippewa  Chief,  and  twelve  hundred  dollars  won't  buy 

her. 
Briggs   of   Tuolumne    owned    her.      Did    you    know    Briggs    of 

Tuolumne  ?  — 
Busted  hisself  in  White  Pine,  and  blew  out  his  brains  down  in 

Trisco? 

Hedn't  no  savey, —  hed  Briggs.     Thar,  Jack!  that'll  do, —  quit 

that  foolin'! 
Nothin'  to  what  she  kin  do  when  she's  got  her  work  cut  out 

before  her. 


196  CHOICE  READINGS 

Hosses  is  hosses,  you  know,  and  likewise,  too,  jockeys  is  jockeys; 
And  't  ain't  every  man  as  can  ride  as  knows  what  a  hoss  has 
got  in  him. 

Know  the  old  ford  on  the  Fork,  that  nearly  got  Flanigan's  leaders? 
Nasty  in  daylight,  you  bet,  and  a  mighty  rough  ford  in  low  water ! 
Well,  it  ain't  six  weeks  ago  that  me  and  the  Jedge,  and  his  nevey, 
Struck  for  that  ford  in  the  night,  in  the  rain,  and  the  water  all 
round  us; 

Up  to  our  flanks  in  the  gulch,  and  Rattlesnake  Creek  just  a  bilin*, 
Not  a  plank  left  in  the  dam,  and  nary  a  bridge  on  the  river. 
I  had  the  gray,  and  the  Jedge  had  his  roan,  and  his  nevey,  Chiquita; 
And  after  us  trundled   the  rocks  jest  loosed   from   the   top  of 
the  canon. 

'  Lickity,  lickity,  switch,  we  came  to  the  ford,  and  Chiquita 
Buckled  right  down  to  her  work,  and  afore  I  could  yell  to  her 

rider, 
Took  water  jest  at  the  ford,  and  there  was  the  Jedge  and  me 

standing. 
And  twelve  hundred  dollars  of  hoss-flesh  afloat,  and  a  driftin' 

to  thunder! 

Would  ye   believe   it,   that  night,   that  hoss, —  that   ar'   filly, — 

Chiquita, — 
Walked   herself   into  her   stall,   and   stood   there   all   quiet  and 

dripping ! 
Clean  as  a  beaver  or  rat,  with  nary  a  buckle  of  harness, 
Just  as  she  swam  the  Fork, —  that  hoss,  that  ar'  filly,  Chiquita. 

That's  what  I  call  a  hoss!  and  —  what  did  you  say?  —  O,  the 

nevey  ? 
Drownded,  I  reckon, —  leastways,  he  never  kem  back  to  deny  it. 
Ye  see  the  derned  fool  had  no  seat, —  ye  couldn't  have  made 

him  a  rider: 
And  then,  ye  know,  boys  will  be  boys^  and  hosses  —  well,  hosses 

is  hosses! 

—  BretHarte. 


HUMOR 


THE  BIRTH  OF  IRELAND 


197 


"  With  due  condescension,  I  'd  call  your  attention  to  what  I  shall 

mention  of  Erin  so  green, 
And,  without  hesitation,  I  '11  show  how  that  nation  became,  of 

creation,  the  gem  and  the  queen. 

"  'T  was  early  one  morning,  without  any  warning,  that  Vanus  was 

born  in  the  beautiful  Say; 
And,  by  the  same  token,  and  sure  'twas  provoking,  her  pinions 

were  soaking,  and  would  n't  give  play. 

"  Old  Neptune,  who  knew  her,  began  to  pursue  her,  in  order  to 

woo  her  —  the  wicked  old  Jew  — 
And  almost  had  caught  her  atop  of  the  water  —  great  Jupiter's 

daughter!  —  which  never  would  do. 

"  But  Jove,  the  great  janius,  looked  down  and  saw  Vanus  and 

Neptune  so  heinous  pursuing  her  wild. 
And  he  spoke  out  in  thunder  he  'd  rend  him  asunder  —  and  sure 

't  was  no  wonder  —  for  tazing  his  child. 

"  A  star  that  was  flying  hard  by  him  espying,  he  caught  with  small 

trying  and  down  let  it  snap; 
It  fell  quick  as  winking  on  Neptune  a-sinking,  and  gave  him, 

I  'm  thinking,  a  bit  of  a  rap. 

''  That  star  it  was   dryland,   both   lowland  and   highland,  and 
formed  a  sweet  island,  the  land  of  my  birth: 

Thus  plain  is  the  story  that,  sent  down  from  glory,  old  Erin  asthore 
is  the  gem  of  the  earth !  " 

—  Anonymous. 


LADY  TEAZLE  AND  SIR  PETER 

{Scenes  from  "  School  for  Scandal  *') 

Act  II.    Scene  i. 

Sir  P.  Lady  Teazle,  Lady  Teazle,  I  '11  not  bear  it! 
Lady  T.  Sir  Peter,  Sir  Peter,  you  may  bear  it  or  not,  as  you 
please;  but  I   ought  to  have  my  own  way  in  everything;  and, 


198  CHOICE  READINGS 

what 's  more,  I  will,  too.  What  though  I  was  educated  in  the 
country,  I  know  very  well  that  women  of  fashion  in  London  are 
accountable  to  nobody  after  they  are  married. 

Sir  P,  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well;  so  a  husband  is  to  have 
no  influence,  no  authority? 

Lady  T.  Authority!  No,  to  be  sure;  if  you  wanted  authority 
over  me,  you  should  have  adopted  me,  and  not  married  me;  I  am 
sure  you  were  old  enough. 

Sir  P.  Old  enough !  ay,  there  it  is !  Well,  well.  Lady  Teazle, 
though  my  life  may  be  made  unhappy  by  your  temper,  I  '11  not  be 
ruined  by  your  extravagance. 

Lady  T.  My  extravagance !  I  'm  sure  I  'm  not  more  extrava- 
gant than  a  woman  ought  to  be. 

Sir  P.  No,  no,  madam,  you  shall  throw  away  no  more  sums 
on  such  unmeaning  luxury.  'Slife!  to  spend  as  much  to  furnish 
your  dressing-room  with  flowers  in  winter  as  would  suffice  to  turn 
the  Pantheon  into  a  greenhouse,  and  give  a  fete  champetre  at 
Christmas ! 

Lady  T,  Sir  Peter,  am  I  to  blame  because  flowers  are  dear  in 
cold  weather?  You  should  find  fault  with  the  climate,  and  not 
with  me.  For  my  part,  I  'm  sure,  I  wish  it  was  spring  all  the 
year  round,  and  that  roses  grew  under  our  feet! 

Sir  P.  Zounds,  madam!  if  you  had  been  born  to  this,  I 
should  n't  wonder  at  your  talking  thus ;  but  you  forget  what  your 
situation  was  when  I  married  you. 

Lady  T.  No,  no,  I  do  n't ;  't  was  a  very  disagreeable  one,  or  I 
should  never  have  married  you. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  yes,  madam,  you  were  then  in  somewhat  a  humbler 
style, —  the  daughter  of  a  plain  country  Squire.  Recollect,  Lady 
Teazle,  when  I  first  saw  you  sitting  at  your  tambour,  in  a  pretty, 
figured  linen  gown,  with  a  bunch  of  keys  at  your  side;  your  hair 
combed  smooth  over  a  roll,  and  your  apartment  hung  round  with 
fruits  in  worsted,  of  your  own  working. 

Lady  T.  O,  yes!  I  remember  it  very  well,  and  a  curious  life 
I  led.  My  daily  occupation  to  inspect  the  dairy,  superintend  the 
poultry,  make  extracts  from  the  family  receipt-book, —  and  comb 
my  Aunt  Deborah's  lap-dog. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  yes,  ma'am,  't  was  so,  indeed ! 

Lady  T.  And  then,  you  know,  my  evening  amusements:  To 
draw  patterns  for  ruflSes,  which  I  had  not  materials  to  make  up; 


HUMOR  199 

to  play  Pope  Joan  with  the  curate;  to  read  a  sermon  to  my  aunt; 
or  to  be  stuck  down  to  an  old  spinet  to  strum  my  father  to  sleep 
after  a  fox-chase. 

Sir  P.  I  am  glad  you  have  so  good  a  memory.  Yes,  madam, 
these  were  the  recreations  I  took  you  from;  but  now  you  must 
have  your  coach  —  vis-a-vis  —  and  three  powdered  footmen  before 
your  chair ;  and,  in  the  summer,  a  pair  of  white  cats  to  draw  you 
to  Kensington  Gardens.  No  recollection,  I  suppose,  when  you 
were  content  to  ride  double,  behind  the  butler,  on  a  docked  coach- 
horse. 

Lady  T.  No,  I  swear  I  never  did  that!  I  deny  the  butler 
and  the  coach-horse. 

Sir  P,  This,  madam,  was  your  situation;  and  what  have  I 
done  for  you?  I  have  made  you  a  woman  of  fashion,  of  fortune, 
of  rank ;  in  short,  I  have  made  you  my  wife. 

Lady  T,  Well  then,  and  there  is  but  one  thing  more  you  can 
make  mej  and  add  to  the  obligation,  and  that  is  — 

Sir  P.  My  widow,  I  suppose? 

Lady  T.  Hem!    hem! 

Sir  P.  I  thank  you,  madam,  but  do  n't  flatter  yourself ;  for, 
though  your  ill  conduct  may  disturb  my  peace  of  mind,  it  shall 
never  break  my  heart,  I  promise  you;  however,  I  am  equally 
obliged  to  you  for  the  hint. 

Lady  T.  Then  why  will  you  endeavor  to  make  yourself  so 
disagreeable  to  me,  and  thwart  me  in  every  little  elegant  expense  ? 

Sir  P.  *Slife,  madam !  I  say,  had  you  any  of  these  little  elegant 
expenses  when  you  married  me  ? 

Lady  T.  Lud,  Sir  Peter!  would  you  have  me  be  out  of  the 
fashion  ? 

Sir  P.  The  fashion,  indeed!  What  had  you  to  do  with  the 
fashion  before  you  married  me? 

Lady  T.  For  my  part,  I  should  think  you  would  like  to  have 
your  wife  thought  a  woman  of  taste. 

Sir  P.  Ay,  there  again!  taste!  Zounds,  madam!  you  had  no 
taste  when  you  married  me. 

Lady  T.  That's  very  true,  indeed,  Sir  Peter;  and,  after  hav- 
ing married  you,  I  should  never  pretend  to  taste  again,  I  al- 
low. But  now,  Sir  Peter,  since  we  have  finished  our  daily  jangle, 
I  presume  I  may  go  to  my  engagement  at  Lady  SneerwelFs? 

Sir  P.  Ay,  there  's  another  precious  circumstance, —  a  chann- 
:r-g  set  of  acquaintances  you  have  made  there! 


200  CHOICE  READINGS 

Lady  T.  Nay,  Sir  Peter,  they  are  all  people  of  rank  and  for- 
tune, and  remarkably  tenacious  of  reputation. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  egad,  they  are  tenacious  of  reputation  with  a 
vengeance ;  for  they  do  n't  choose  anybody  should  have  a  charac- 
ter but  themselves.  Such  a  crew!  Ah!  many  a  wretch  has  rid 
on  a  hurdle  who  has  done  less  mischief  than  these  utterers  of 
forged  tales,  coiners  of  scandal,  and  clippers  of  reputation. 

Lady  T.  What!  would  you  restrain  the  freedom  of  speech? 

Sir  P.  Ah!  they  have  made  you  just  as  bad  as  any  one  of  the 
society. 

Lady  T,  Why,  I  believe  I  do  bear  a  part  with  a  tolerable 
grace. 

Sir  P.  Grace,  indeed! 

Lady  T.  But  I  vow  I  bear  no  malice  against  the  people  I  abuse. 
When  I  say  an  ill-natured  thing,  't  is  out  of  pure  good-humor ;  and 
I  take  it  for  granted,  they  deal  exactly  in  the  same  manner  with 
me.  But,  Sir  Peter,  you  know  you  promised  to  come  to  Lady 
SneerwelFs,  too. 

Sir  P.  Well,  well ;  1 11  call  in  just  to  look  after  my  own 
character. 

Lady  T.  Then  indeed  you  must  make  haste  after  me,  or  you  11 
be  too  late.     So,  good-bye  to  ye!     [Exit  Lady  Teazle.] 

Sir  P.  So!  I  have  gained  much  by  my  intended  expostulation; 
yet  with  what  a  charming  air  she  contradicts  every  thing  I  say, 
and  how  pleasingly  she  shows  her  contempt  for  my  authority! 
Well,  though  I  can't  make  her  love  me,  there  is  great  satisfaction 
in  quarrelling  with  her;  and  I  think  she  never  appears  to  such  an 
advantage  as  when  she  is  doing  everything  in  her  power  to  plague 
me.  \_Exit,^ 

Act  III.    Scene  i 

Sir  P.  Was  ever  man  so  crossed  as  I  am?  Everything  con- 
spiring to  fret  me!  I  had  not  been  involved  in  matrimony  a  fort- 
night, before  her  father,  a  hale  and  hearty  man,  died,  on  purpose, 
I  believe,  for  the  pleasure  of  plaguing  me  with  the  care  of  his 
daughter.  [Lady  Teazle  sings  without.^  But  here  comes  my 
helpmate !  She  appears  in  great  good-humor.  How  happy  I  should 
be  if  I  could  tease  her  into  loving  me,  though  but  little! 

Enter  Lady  Teazle 
Lady  T.  Lud!   Sir  Peter,  I  hope  you  have  n't  been  quarrelling 


HUMOR  201 

with  Maria?  It  is  not  using  me  well  to  be  ill-humored  when  I 
am  not  by. 

Sir  P.  Ah!  Lady  Teazle,  you  might  have  the  power  to  make 
me  good-humored  at  all  times. 

Lady  T.  I  am  sure  I  wish  I  had ;  for  I  want  you  to  be  in  a 
charming  sweet  temper  at  this  moment.  Do  be  good-humored 
now,  and  let  me  have  two  hundred  pounds,  will  you? 

Sir  P.  Two  hundred  pounds !  What,  ain't  I  to  be  in  a  good- 
humor  without  paying  for  it  ?  But  speak  to  me  thus,  and  i'  faith 
there  's  nothing  I  could  refuse  you.  You  shall  have  it;  IGives  her 
notes,~\  but  seal  me  a  bond  of  repayment. 

Lady  T.  O  no!  there,  my  note  of  hand  will  do  as  well.  [Of- 
fering her  hand.^ 

Sir  P.  And  you  shall  no  longer  reproach  me  with  not  giving 
you  an  independent  settlement.  I  mean  shortly  to  surprise  you: 
but  shall  we  always  live  thus,  hey? 

Lady  T.  If  you  please.  I  'm  sure  I  do  n't  care  how  soon  we 
leave  off  quarrelling,  provided  you  '11  own  you  were  tired  first. 

Sir  P.  Well,  then  let  our  future  contest  be,  who  shall  be  most 
obliging. 

Lady  T.  I  assure  you.  Sir  Peter,  good-nature  becomes  you. 
You  look  now  as  you  did  before  we  were  married,  when  you  used 
to  walk  with  me  under  the  elms,  and  tell  me  stories  of  what  a 
gallant  you  were  in  your  youth ;  and  chuck  me  under  the  chin,  you 
would;  and  ask  me  if  I  thought  I  could  love  an  old  fellow,  who 
would  deny  me  nothing ;  did  n*t  you  ? 

Sir  P.  Yes,  yes;  and  you  were  as  kind  and  attentive  — 

Lady  T.  Ay,  so  I  was,  and  would  always  take  your  part,  when 
my  acquaintance  used  to  abuse  you,  and  turn  you  into  ridicule, 

Sir  P.  Indeed! 

Lady  T.  Ay,  and  when  my  cousin  Sophy  has  called  you  a  stiff, 
peevish  old  bachelor,  and  laughed  at  me  for  thinking  of  marrying 
one  who  might  be  my  father,  I  have  always  defended  you,  and 
said  I  did  n't  think  you  so  ugly  by  any  means. 

Sir  P.  Thank  you. 

Lady  T.  And  I  dared  say  you  *d  make  a  very  good  sort  of  a 
husband. 

Sir  P.  And  you  prophesied  right;  and  we  shall  now  be  the 
happiest  couple  — 

Lady  T.  And  never  differ  again.  [Both  sit.] 


202  CHOICE  READINGS 

Sir  P.  No,  never !  —  though  at  the  same  time,  indeed,  my  dear 
Lady  Teazle,  you  must  watch  your  temper  very  seriously;  for  in 
all  our  little  quarrels,  my  dear,  if  you  recollect,  my  love,  you 
always  begin. 

Lady  T,  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Sir  Peter;  indeed,  you 
always  gave  the  provocation. 

Sir  P,  Now  see,  my  angel !  take  care, —  contradicting  is  n't 
the  way  to  keep  friends. 

Lady  T.  Then  do  n't  you  begin  it,  my  love ! 

Sir  P.  There,  now!  you  —  you  are  going  on.  You  don't 
perceive,  my  life,  that  you  are  just  doing  the  very  thing  which  you 
know  always  makes  me  angry. 

Lady  T.  Nay,  you  know  if  you  will  be  angry  without  any 
reason,  my  dear  — 

Sir  P.  There !  now  you  want  to  quarrel  again. 

Lady  T.  No,  I  am  sure  I  do  n't ;  but  if  you  will  be  so  peevish  — 

Sir  P.  There  now!  who  begins  first? 

Lady  T.  Why,  you,  to  be  sure.  [Both  start  up.'\  I  said  noth- 
ing ;  but  there  's  no  bearing  your  temper. 

Sir  P.  No,  no,  madam ;  the  fault 's  in  your  own  temper. 

Lady  T.  Ay,  you  are  just  what  my  cousin  Sophy  said  you 
would  be. 

Sir  P.  Your  cousin  Sophy  is  a  forward,  impertinent  gypsy. 

Lady  T.  You  are  a  great  bear,  I  *m  sure,  to  abuse  my  relations. 

Sir  P,  Now,  may  all  the  plagues  of  marriage  be  doubled  on  me, 
if  ever  I  try  to  be  friends  with  you  any  more. 

Lady  T.  So  much  the  better. 

Sir  P,  No,  no,  madam ;  't  is  evident  you  never  cared  a  pin  for 
me,  and  I  was  a  madman  to  marry  you, —  a  pert,  rural  coquette, 
that  had  refused  half  the  honest  squires  in  the  neighborhood. 

Lady  T.  And  I  am  sure  I  was  a  fool  to  marry  you, —  an  old 
dangling  bachelor,  who  was  single  at  fifty,  only  because  he  never 
could  meet  with  any  one  who  would  have  him. 

Sir  P.  Ay,  ay,  madam;  but  you  were  pleased  enough  to  listen 
to  me;  you  never  had  such  an  offer  before. 

Lady  T.  No?  didn't  I  refuse  Sir  Tivy  Terrier,  who  every- 
body said  would  have  been  a  better  match  ?  for  his  estate  is  just  as 
good  as  yours,  and  he  has  broke  his  neck  since  we  have  been  mar- 
ried. 

Sir  P.  I  have  done  with  you,  madam!    You  are  an  unfeeling, 


HUMOR 


203 


ungrateful  —  but  there  's  an  end  of  everything.  I  believe  you  capa- 
ble of  everything  that  is  bad.  Yes,  madam,  I  now  believe  the 
reports  relative  to  you  and  Charles,  madam.  Yes,  madam,  you 
and  Charles  are  —  not  without  grounds  — 

Lady  T.  Take  care.  Sir  Peter!  you  had  better  not  insinuate 
any  such  thing!  I  'II  not  be  suspected  without  cause,  I  promise 
you. 

Sir  P.  Very  well,  madam !  very  well !  A  separate  maintenance 
as  soon  as  you  please!  Yes,  madam,  or  a  divorce!  I  '11  make  an 
example  of  myself  for  the  benefit  of  all  old  bachelors.  Let  us 
separate,  madam. 

Lady  T.  Agreed,  agreed!  And,  now,  my  dear  Sir  Peter,  we 
are  of  a  mind  once  more,  we  may  be  the  happiest  couple,  and  never 
differ  again,  you  know, —  ha!  ha!  ha!  Well,  you  are  going  to 
be  in  a  passion,  I  see,  and  I  shall  only  interrupt  you ;  so,  bye,  bye. 

[Exit. 

Sir  P,  Plagues  and  tortures!  Can't  I  make  her  angry,  either? 
O,  I  am  the  most  miserable  fellow !  but  I  '11  not  bear  her  presum- 
ing to  keep  her  temper.  [Exit. 

—  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan, 


AN  ENCOUNTER  WITH  AN  INTERVIEWER 

The  nervous,  dapper,  "  peart "  young  man  took  the  chair  I 
offered  him,  and  said  he  was  connected  with  the  Daily  Thunder- 
storm, and  added: 

"  Hoping  it 's  no  harm,  I  Ve  come  to  interview  you." 

"Come  to  what?" 

"  Interview  you." 

"Ah!  I  see.    Yes  — yes.    Um!    Yes  — yes." 

I  was  not  feeling  bright  that  morning.  Indeed,  my  powers 
seemed  a  bit  under  a  cloud.  However,  I  went  to  the  bookcase, 
and  when  I  had  been  looking  six  or  seven  minutes,  I  found  I  was 
obliged  to  refer  to  the  young  man.    I  said: 

"How  do  you  spell  it?" 

"Spell  what?" 

"  Interview." 

"  O  my  goodness!  what  do  you  want  to  spell  it  for?  " 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  spell  it ;  I  want  to  see  what  it  means." 


204  -  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Well,  this  is  astonishing,  I  must  say.  /  can  tell  you  what 
it  means,  if  you  —  if  you " 

"  O,  all  right!  That  will  answer,  and  much  obliged  to  you, 
too." 

"In,  in  J  t  e  r,  ter,  inttr " 

"  Then  you  spell  it  with  an  If  " 

"Why,  certainly!" 

"  O,  that  is  what  took  me  so  long." 

'*  Why,  my  dear  sir,  what  did  you  propose  to  spell  it  with?" 

**  Well,  I  —  I  —  hardly  know.  I  had  the  Unabridged,  and 
I  was  ciphering  around  in  the  back  end,  hoping  I  might  troie  her 
among  the  pictures.     But  it 's  a  very  old  edition." 

"  Why,  my  friend,  they  would  n't  have  a  picture  of  it  in  even 

the  latest  e My  dear  sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Imean  no  harm 

in  the  world,  but  you  do  not  look  as  —  as  —  intelligent  as  I  had 
expected  you  would.     No  harm  —  I  mean  no  harm  at  all." 

"  O,  don't  mention  it!  It  has  often  been  said,  and  by  people 
who  would  not  flatter  and  who  could  have  no  inducement  to  flat- 
ter, that  I  am  quite  remarkable  in  that  way.  Yes  —  yes;  they 
always  speak  of  it  with  rapture." 

"  I  can  easily  imagine  it.  But  about  this  interview.  You 
know  it  is  the  custom,  now,  to  interview  any  man  who  has  be- 
come notorious." 

"  Indeed,  I  had  not  heard  of  it  before.  It  must  be  very  inter- 
esting.   What  do  you  do  it  with  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well  —  well  —  well  this  is  disheartening.  It  ought  to  be 
done  with  a  club  in  some  cases ;  but  customarily  it  consists  in  the  in- 
terviewer asking  questions,  and  the  interviewed  answering  them. 
It  is  all  the  rage  now.  Will  you  let  me  ask  you  certain  questions 
calculated  to  bring  out  the  salient  points  of  your  public  and  pri- 
vate history  ?  " 

"  O,  with  pleasure  —  with  pleasure.  I  have  a  very  bad  mem- 
ory, but  I  hope  you  will  not  mind  that.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  an 
irregular  memory  —  singularly  irregular.  Sometimes  it  goes  in  a 
gallop,  and  then  again  it  will  be  as  much  as  a  fortnight  passing  a 
given  point.    This  is  a  great  grief  to  me." 

"  O,  it  is  no  matter,  so  you  will  try  to  do  the  best  you  C4Ui." 

"  I  will.     I  will  put  my  whole  mind  on  it." 

"  Thanks.     Are  you  ready  to  begin  ?  " 

"  Ready." 


HUMOR 


205 


Q.     How  old  are  you  ? 

A.     Nineteen,  in  June. 

Q.  Indeed !  I  would  have  taken  you  to  be  thirty-five  or  six. 
Where  were  you  born  ? 

A.     In  Missouri. 

Q.     When  did  you  begin  to  write? 

A.     In  1836. 

Q.     Why,  how  could  that  be,  if  you  are  only  nineteen  now? 

A.     I  do  n't  know.     It  does  seem  curious,  somehow. 

Q.  It  does,  indeed.  Whom  do  you  consider  the  most  re- 
markable man  you  ever  met? 

A.     Aaron  Burr. 

Q.  But  you  never  could  have  met  Aaron  Burr,  if  you  are 
only  nineteen  years 

A.  Now,  if  you  know  more  about  me  than  I  do,  what  do 
you  ask  me  for? 

Q.  Well,  it  was  only  a  suggestion ;  nothing  more.  How  did 
you  happen  to  meet  Burr? 

A.  Well,  I  happened  to  be  at  his  funeral  one  day,  and  he 
asked  me  to  make  less  noise,  and 

Q.  But,  good  heavens!  if  you  were  at  his  funeral,  he  must 
have  been  dead;  and  if  he  was  dead,  how  could  he  care  whether 
you  made  a  noise  or  not? 

A.  I  do  n't  know.  He  was  always  a  particular  kind  of  a 
man  that  way. 

Q.  Still,  I  do  n't  understand  it  at  all.  You  say  he  spoke 
to  you  and  that  he  was  dead. 

A.     I  did  n't  say  he  was  dead. 

Q.     But  wasn't  he  dead? 

A.     Well,  some  said  he  was,  some  said  he  was  n't. 

Q.     What  did  you  think  ? 

A.  Oh,  it  was  none  of  my  business!  It  wasn't  any  of  my 
funeral. 

Q.  Did  you—  However,  we  can  never  get  this  matter 
straight.  Let  me  ask  you  something  else.  What  was  the  date 
of  your  birth? 

A.     Monday,  October  31,  1693. 

Q.  What!  Impossible!  That  would  make  you  a  hundr«d 
and  ninety  years  old.     How  do  you  account  for  that? 

A.     I  do  n't  account  for  it  at  all. 


206  CHOICE  READINGS 

Q.  But  you  said  at  first  you  were  only  nineteen,  and  now  you 
make  yourself  out  to  be  one  hundred  and  ninety.  It  is  an  awful 
discrepancy. 

A.  Why,  have  you  noticed  that?  (Shaking  hands.)  Many 
a  time  it  has  seemed  to  me  like  a  discrepancy,  but  somehow  I 
couldn't  make  up  my  mind.     How  cjuick  you  notice  a  thing! 

Q.  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,  as  far  as  it  goes.  Had 
you,  or  have  you,  any  brothers  or  sisters? 

A.  Eh!  I  —  I  —  I  —  think  so  —  yes  —  but  I  don't  re- 
member. 

Q.  Well,  that  is  the  most  extraordinary  statement  I  ever 
heard. 

A.     Why,  what  makes  you  think  that? 

Q.  How  could  I  think  otherwise?  Why,  look  here!  Who 
IS  this  a  picture  of  on  the  wall?    Is  n't  that  a  brother  of  yours? 

A.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes!  Now  you  remind  me  of  it;  that  was 
a  brother  of  mine.  That  *s  William  —  Bill  we  called  him.  Poor 
old  Bill! 

Q.     Why?    Is  he  dead  then? 

A.  Ah !  well,  I  suppose  so.  We  never  could  tell.  There  was 
a  great  mystery  about  it. 

Q.     That  is  sad,  very  sad.    He  disappeared,  then  ? 

A.     Well,  yes,  in  a  sort  of  general  way.    We  buried  him. 

Q.  Buried  him!  Buried  him,  without  knowing  whether  he 
was  dead  or  not? 

A.     Oh,  no!     Not  that.     He  was  dead  enough. 

Q.  Well,  I  confess  that  I  can't  understand  this.  If  you 
buried  him,  and  you  knew  he  was  dead  — 

A.     No!  no!    We  only  thought  he  was. 

Q.     Oh,  I  see.     He  came  to  life  again? 

A.     I  bet  he  didn't. 

Q.  Well,  I  never  heard  anything  like  this.  Somebody  was 
dead.     Somebody  was  buried.     Now,  where  was  the  mystery? 

A.  Ah!  that's  just  it!  That's  it  exactly.  You  see,  we 
were  twins  —  defunct  and  I  —  and  we  got  mixed  in  the  bathtub 
when  we  were  only  two  weeks  old,  and  one  of  us  was  drowned. 
But  we  did  n't  know  which.  Some  think  it  was  Bill.  Some  think 
it  was  me. 

Q.     Well,  that  is  remarkable.     What  do  you  think? 

A.     Goodness  knows!     I  would  give  whole  worlds  to  know. 


HUMOR  207 

This  solemn,  this  awful  mystery  has  cast  a  gloom  over  my  whole 
life.  But  I  will  tell  you  a  secret  now,  which  I  never  have  revealed 
to  any  creature  before.  One  of  us  had  a  peculiar  mark  —  a  large 
mole  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand  —  that  was  me.  That  child  was 
the  one  that  was  drowned! 

Q.  Very  well,  then,  I  don't  see  that  there  is  any  mystery 
about  it,  after  all. 

A.  You  don't?  Well,  /  do.  Anyway,  I  don't  see  how 
they  could  ever  have  been  such  a  blundering  lot  as  to  go  and  bury 
the  wrong  child.  But,  'sh !  —  do  n't  mention  it  where  the  family 
can  hear  of  it.  Heavens  knows  they  have  heart-breaking  troubles 
enough  without  adding  this. 

Q.  Well,  I  believe  I  have  got  material  enough  for  the  present, 
and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  pains  you  have  taken. 
But  I  was  a  good  deal  interested  in  that  account  of  Aaron  Burr's 
funeral.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  particular  circum- 
stance it  was  that  made  you  think  Burr  was  such  a  remarkable 
man? 

A.  Oh!  it  was  a  mere  trifle!  Not  one  man  in  fifty  would 
have  noticed  it  at  all.  When  the  sermon  was  over,  and  the  pro- 
cession all  ready  to  start  for  the  cemetery,  and  the  body  all  ar- 
ranged nice  in  the  hearse,  he  said  he  wanted  to  take  a  last  look 
at  the  scenery,  and  so  he  got  up  and  rode  with  the  driver. 

Then  the  young  man  reverently  withdrew.  He  was  very 
pleasant  company,  and  I  was  sorry  to  see  him  go.  I  need  not  say 
that  I  have  never  been  troubled  with  interviewers  since. 

—  Samuel  L.  Clemens, 


BY  TELEPHONE 

When  the  young  ladies  who  were  spending  the  summer  at  the 
Seaside  Hotel,  at  Sandy  Beach,  resolved  to  get  up  a  fair,  they  had 
no  heartier  helper  than  Mr.  Samuel  Brassy,  a  young  gentleman 
recently  graduated  from  Columbia  College.  He  was  alert,  ener- 
getic, ingenious,  and  untiring;  and  when  at  last  the  fair  was 
opened,  the  young  ladies  declared  that  they  did  not  know  what 
they  should  have  done  without  him. 

Mr.  Samuel  Brassy  was  on  friendly,  if  not  familiar,  terms  with 
Mrs.   Martin,   her  charges,   the   three   Miss   Pettitoes,   and  her 


208  CHOICE  READINGS 

niece,  Miss  Bessie  Martin.  Toward  the  three  Miss  Pettitoes  he 
was  kind,  but  to  Miss  Bessie  Martin  he  was  devoted.  He  hov- 
ered about  her  as  though  he  had  words  of  deepest  import  tremb- 
ling on  his  tongue;  but  when  he  sat  beside  her  on  the  piazza,  or 
danced  with  her  in  the  Virginia  Reel  of  a  Saturday  night,  or 
walked  to  church  with  her  of  a  Sunday  morning,  he  found  that  he 
had  nothing  to  say  for  himself. 

Miss  Martin  treated  him  as  she  treated  other  young  men.  She 
allowed  him  to  assist  her  in  the  organization  of  a  post-office  de- 
partment in  the  fair,  of  which  she  was  to  be  postmistress.  At  Sam 
Brassy's  suggestion  the  post-office  had  been  arranged  as  the  public 
pay-station  for  the  Seaside  Hotel  Telephone  Co.  He  had  set  up 
a  toy  telephone  in  the  post-office  with  a  line  extending  to  a  summer- 
house  about  two  hundred  feet  from  the  hotel.  Any  person  paying 
twenty-five  cents  at  the  post-office  was  entitled  to  go  to  the  summer- 
house  and  hold  a  conversation  by  wire.  The  questions  which  a 
casual  converser  might  choose  to  put  were  answered  promptly  and 
pointedly,  for  Bessie  Martin  was  a  quick-witted  and  keen-sighted 
girl. 

So  it  happened  that  the  telephone  was  a  captivating  novelty, 
and  Miss  Bessie's  conversation  charmed  many  a  quarter  into  the 
box. 

Sam  himself  was  constant  in  his  attendance  at  the  post-office. 
He  did  not  seem  altogether  pleased  at  the  continual  use  of  the 
telephone.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  a  shadow  of  resolution  deepened 
on  his  face.  About  ten  o'clock  the  ball-room  began  to  empty,  as 
the  crowd  gathered  in  the  dining-room,  where  the  drawing  of  the 
grand  prize  was  to  take  place.  A  subscription  had  been  opened 
for  a  pair  of  handsome  vases  which  Mr.  Martin  had  presented, 
and  every  subscriber  had  been  given  a  numbered  ticket;  and  now, 
on  the  last  evening  of  the  fair,  there  was  to  be  a  "  casting  of  lots  " 
to  discover  to  whom  the  vases  might  belong.  The  interest  in  the 
result  was  so  intense  that  most  of  the  ladies  who  had  stalls  aban- 
doned them  for  a  while  and  deserted  to  the  dining-room.  Then 
Mr.  Samuel  Brassy  stepped  up  to  the  window  of  the  post-office. 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  the  drawing  of  the  prize,  Miss  Bessie?  " 

"  No;  I  shall  stick  to  my  post.** 

"  That 's  all  right,  then  here  's  my  quarter." 

So  saying  he  placed  the  coin  before  her,  and  then  he  hurried 
away.     Miss  Bessie  Martin  was  left  alone  in  the  corner  of  the 


HUMOR  209 

ball-room.     She  was  counting  up  her  gains,  when  the  telephone 

bell  rang  sharply.   Before  she  could  put  the  money  down  and  go  to 

the  instrument,  there  came  a  second  impatient  ting-a-ling. 

"  Somebody  seems  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  she  said,  as  she  took  her 

station  before  the  box  and  held  the  receiver  to  her  ear. 

"  Hello !  hello !    Oh,  it 's  you,  is  it,  Mr.  Brassy? '' 
******* 

"  Yes ;  I  wondered  why  you  ran  off  so  suddenly." 
******* 

"  You  have  paid  your   quarter   and  you  can  talk  just  two 

minutes." 

***** 

"  Of  course,  I  did  not  mean  that.     You  ought  to  know  me 

better." 

*  *     *     * 

"What  did  you  say?" 

*  *     *     *    « 

"  Not  lately." 
Hfr     *     *     ^ 

"  Yes,  she  had  on  a  blue  dress,  and  I  thought  she  looked  like 

a  fright;  didn't  you?" 

*  *     *     * 

"  Who  were  you  looking  at,  then  ?  " 

*  *     *     * 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brassy!" 

*  *     *     ^ 

"  No,  they  are  not  here  now." 
******* 

"There's  nobody  here  at  all." 

******* 

"  Yes,  I  'm  ail  alone.    There  is  n't  a  creature  in  sigjit" 
***** 

"  I  love  secrets !    Tell  me." 
***** 

"Tell  me  now." 
<***** 

"  Why  can't  you  tell  me  now?      I  *m  just  dying  to  know." 

***** 

"No,  there  isn't  anybody  here  at  all  —  nobody  —  nobody." 


210  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  How  poetic  you  are  to-night." 
******* 

"  I  just  dote  on  poetry." 
******** 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brassy!" 

******** 

"  You  take  me  by  surprise." 
*     *     *     *     * 

**  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.'* 
***** 

"You  do!" 

***** 

"  With  your  whole  heart?  " 
***** 

"  I  do  n*t  know  what  to  say/* 
******** 

"  But  I  can't  say  *  yes '  all  at  once." 

******** 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  '  no.'  " 

***** 

"  But  I  really  must  have  time  to  think." 
***** 

"  No,  no,  no!    I  can't  give  you  an  answer  right  away." 
***** 

"  Well,  if  you  must  —  you  can  ask  Auntie  — " 

^         ^  ^  ^         ^         ^         ^         ^ 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  *m  all  alone  still." 
******** 

"Good-bye,  Sam!" 

'spt  T^  Tfr  Tfr  ^  7pr  Tpr 

Miss  Bessie  Martin  turned  away  from  the  instrument  with 
a  flush  on  her  cheek  and  a  light  in  her  eye.  Just  then  Mr.  Samuel 
Brassy  rushed  in  through  the  open  door,  flew  across  the  ball-room, 
and  disappeared  within  the  post-office.  A  minute  later  a  throng 
of  people  began  to  pour  back  from  the  dining-room,  and  there  were 
frequent  calls  for  **  Sam  "  and  "  Mr.  Brass5\" 

With  heightened  color  and  ill-concealed  excitement,  Mr.  Sam- 
uel Brassy  came  out  of  the  post-office.  He  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Mr.  Martin,  who  held  out  his  hand  and  cried,  "  I  con- 
gratulate  you,    Sam."      *' How  —  how   did   you   know   anything 


HUMOR  211 

about  ft?  ''  Before  Mr.  Martin  could  reply,  Mr.  Harry  Brackett 
and  the  three  Miss  Pettitoes  came  forward.  Mr.  Brackett  bore 
in  his  arms  the  pair  of  vases. 

Then  Mr.  Brassy  knew  why  Mr.  Martin  had  congratulated 
him.  ''  You  have  won  the  prize,"  cried  Harry  Brackett.  '*  I 
have  for  a  fact,"  Sam  Brassy  answered,  looking  at  Miss  Bessie 
Martin. 

—  Anonymous, 


SAUNDERS  McGLASHAN^S  COURTSHIP 

Saunders  McGlashan  was  a  hand-loom  weaver  in  a  rural  part 
of  Scotland.  In  his  early  youth  his  father  died  and  left  him  with 
the  care  of  his  mother  and  the  younger  children.  He  was  a  gray- 
haired  man  now.  The  bairns  wxre  married  and  awa'.  His  old 
mother,  on  whom  he  had  lavished  the  most  tender  care,  ^as  lying 
beside  his  father  in  the  kirkyard.  He  returned  to  the  house  alone. 
He  sat  down  in  his  father's  chair,  crowned  with  a  priceless  crown 
of  deserved  blessing,  but  there  was  no  voice  to  welcome  him. 

"  What  11  I  dae?  "  he  said.  ''  I  think  1 11  just  keep  the  hoosc 
myser." 

But  when  winter  set  in,  his  trials  began.  One  dark  morning 
he  awoke  and  said:  "  What  needs  I  lie  gautin'  here?  1 11  rise  and 
get  a  licht."  So  he  got  his  flint  and  steel  and  tinder  box,  and  set  ta 
work.  The  sparks  from  the  flint  and  steel  would  not  ignite  the 
tinder.  He  struck  vehemently,  missed  the  flint,  and  drove  the 
steel  deep  into  his  knuckles.  "  I  said  in  my  haste  this  mornin* 
that  I  wud  hae  a  wife,  and  noo  I  say  in  my  solemn  leisure,  this 
very  day  I  shall  have  a  wife." 

Instinct  told  him  that  when  he  went  a-wooing  his  best  dress 
should  go  on ;  and  looking  in  the  glass  he  said :  "  I  canna  gang 
to  see  the  lassies  wi'  a  beard  like  that."  The  shaving  done,  he 
rubbed  his  chin,  saying  with  great  simplicity,  "  I  think  that  should 
dae  for  the  lassies  noo."  Then  he  turned  and  admired  himself  in 
the  glass,  for  vanity  is  the  last  thing  that  dies  in  a  man. 

**  YeVe  no  a  very  ill-looking  man  after  a'  Saunders;  but  it's 
a'  very  weel  bein'  guid  lookin'  and  well-drest,  but  what  woman- 
am  I  gaun  to  seek  for  my  wife?  " 

He  got  at  length  a  paper  and  pencil  and  wrote  down  with 
great  deliberation  six  female  names  in  large  half-text,  carefully 


212  CHOICE  READINGS 

dotting  all  the  "  i's  "  and  stroking  all  the  "  t's  *'  and  surveyed  the 
list  as  follows: 

'*  That 's  a'  the  women  I  mind  about.  There  's  no  great  choice 
among  them ;  let  me  see,"  putting  on  his  spectacles,  "  it 's  no  wise- 
like gaun  courtin'  when  a  body  needs  to  wear  specs.  Several  o* 
them  I  've  never  spoken  till,  but  I  suppose  that 's  of  no  consequence 
in  this  case.  There  's  Mary  Young ;  she  's  not  very  young  at  ony 
rate.  Elspeth  McFarlane ;  but  she  's  blind  o'  the  recht  e'e,  and 
it 's  not  necessary  that  Saunders  McGlashan  should  marry  an  im- 
perfect woman.  Kirsty  Forsyth ;  she  's  been  married  twice  already, 
an*  surely  twa  men  's  enough  for  ony  woman.  Mary  Morrison, 
a  bonnie  woman ;  but  she  *s  gotten  a  confounded  lang  tongue,  an* 
they  say  the  hair  upon  her  heid  *s  no  her  ain  hair.  I  *m  certain  it  *s 
her  ain  tongue  at  ony  rate!  Jeannie  Millar,  wi'  plenty  o'  siller  — 
not  to  be  despised.  Janet  Henderson,  wi'  plenty  o*  love.  I  ken 
that  she  has  a  gude  heart,  for  she  was  kind  to  her  mither  lang 
bedfast.  Noo  which  o'  thae  six  will  I  go  to  first?  I  think  the 
first  four  can  bide  a  wee,  but  the  last  twa  —  siller  and  love !  love 
and  siller!  Eh,  wadna  it  be  grand  if  a  person  could  get  them 
baith !  but  that  *s  no  allowed  in  the  Christian  dispensation.  The 
patriarchs  had  mair  liberty.  Abraham  wud  just  hae  ta'en  them 
baith,  but  I  *m  no  Abraham.  If  I  bring  Janet  Henderson  to  my 
fireside  and  she  sits  at  that  side  darnin'  stockin*  and  I  sit  at  this 
side  readin*  after  my  day's  wark,  an'  I  lauch  ower  to  her  an'  she 
lauchs  ower  tae  me,  isna  that  heaven  upon  earth  ?  A  body  can  get 
on  in  this  warld  withoot  siller,  but  they  canno  get  on  in  the  warld 
withoot  love.     I  '11  gie  Janet  Henderson  the  first  offer." 

He  put  on  his  best  Sabbath-day  hat  and  issued  forth  into  the 
street.  Instantly  at  all  the  windows  commanding  a  view  of  the 
street  there  were  female  noses  flattened  against  the  panes.  Voices 
might  be  heard  crying,  "Mither!  mither!  mither!  Come  here! 
come  here!  Look!  look!  look!  There's  Saunders  McGlashan 
wi'  his  beard  aff,  and  his  Sabbath-day  claes  on  in  the  middle  of  the 
week!     He's  lookin'  awfu'  melancholy.     I  wonder  wha 's  dead." 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  sensation  he  was  creating,  he  walked 
gravely  on  toward  the  house  of  Janet  Henderson. 

"  Lord  preserve  me,  Saunders,  is  that  you  ?  A  sicht  o*  you  's 
guid  for  sair  een !  Come  awa  into  the  fire.  What  ^s  up  wi'  ye  the 
day,  Saunders?  Ye  're  awfu'  weel  lickit  up,  ye  are.  I  never  saw 
you  lookin'  sae  handsome.    What  is  't  ye  're  after  ?  " 


HUMOR  213 

"  I  'm  gaun  aboot  seeking  a  wife.'* 

"  Eh,  Saunders,  if  that 's  what  ye  want,  ye  needna  want  that 
very  lang,  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"But  ye  dinna  seem  to  understand  me;  it's  you  I  want  for 
my  wife." 

"  Saunders  McGlashan !  think  shame  o'  yoursel',  makin'  a 
fool  o'  a  young  person  in  that  manner." 

"  I  'm  makin'  nae  fool  o'  ye,  Janet.  This  very  day  I  'm  deter- 
mined to  hae  a  wife.  You  are  the  first  that  I  have  spoken  till.  I 
houp  there  's  nae  offense,  Janet.  I  meant  nae  offense.  Eh !  oh ! 
very  w^ell ;  if  that 's  the  way  o  't,  it  canna  be  helped ;  "  and,  slowly 
unfolding  the  paper  which  he  had  taken  from  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
"  I  have  several  other  women's  names  markit  down  here  tae  ca' 
upon." 

She  saw  the  man  meant  business,  stopped  her  spinning,  looked 
down,  was  long  lost  in  thought,  raised  her  head,  and  broke  the 
silence  as  follows: 

''Saunders  (ahem!)  McGlashan  (ahem!),  I've  given  your 
serious  offer  great  reflection.  I  've  spoken  to  my  heart,  and  the 
answer  's  come  back  to  my  tongue.  I  'm  sorry  tae  hurt  your  feel- 
in's,  Saunders,  but  what  the  heart  speaketh  the  tongue  repeateth. 
A  body  maun  act  in  thae  matters  according  to  their  conscience, 
for  they  maun  gie  an  account  at  the  last.  So  I  think,  Saunders, — 
I  think  I  '11  just  —  I  '11  just — "covering  her  face  with  her  apron 
—  ''I  '11  just  tak'  ye.    Eh !  Saunders,  gae  'wa'  wi'  ye!  gae  'wa'  !  " 

But  the  maiden  did  not  require  to  resist,  for  he  made  no  at- 
tack, but  solemnly  sat  in  his  seat  and  solemnly  said:  "  I  'm  rale 
muckle  obleeged  to  ye,  Janet.  It  '11  no  be  necessary  to  ca'  on  ony 
o'  thae  ither  lassies  noo !  " 

He  rose,  thinking  it  was  all  over,  and  turned  toward  the  door  ; 
but  the  maiden  was  there  first,  with  her  back  at  the  door,  and  said: 
''  Lord  preserve  me!  what  have  I  done?  If  my  neebors  come  tae 
ken  that  I  've  ta'en  you  at  the  very  first  offer,  they  '11  point  the 
finger  of  scorn  at  me  and  say,  ahint  my  back,  as  lang  as  I  live, 
*  that  woman  was  deein'  for  a  man ; '  so  ye  maun  come  every  day 
for  the  next  month,  and  come  in  daylicht,  so  they  '11  a'  see  ye 
comin'  an'  gaun,  and  they  '11  say,  '  that  woman  's  no  easy  courtit, 
I  can  tell  ye.  The  puir  man  's  wearin'  his  shoon  aff  his  feet! 
For,  Saunders,  though  I  '11  be  your  wife,  Saunders,  I  'm  deter- 
mined to  hae  my  dues  o'  courtship  a'  the  same." 


214  CHOICE  READINGS 

She  lit  the  lamp  of  love  in  his  heart  at  last.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  long  life  he  felt  the  unmistakable,  holy,  heavenly  glow ;  his 
heart  broke  into  a  full  storm  of  love,  and,  stooping  down,  he  took 
her  yielding  hand  in  his,  and  said :  "  Yes,  I  wuU ;  yes,  I  wull ! 
I  11  come  twice  every  day,  my  Jo !  my  Jo  —  Jaanet !  " 

Before  the  unhappy  man  knew  where  he  was,  he  had  kissed 
the  maiden,  who  was  long  expecting  it.  But  the  man  blushed  crim- 
son, feeling  guilty  of  a  crime  which  he  thought  no  woman  could 
forgive,  for  it  was  the  first  kiss  he  had  gotten  or  given  in  fifty 
long  years,  while  the  woman  stood  with  a  look  of  supreme  satis- 
faction, and  said  to  him: 

"  Eh !   Saunders  McGlashan,  isna  that  rale  ref reshin'  ?  " 

—  Anonymous, 


THE  TWO  RUNAWAYS 

Years  ago  there  dwelt  in  Middle  Georgia  a  wealthy  but  ec 
centric  bachelor  planter,  known  by  the  name  of  Major  Crawford 
Worthington.  He  was  the  owner  of  a  number  of  slaves,  to 
whom,  on  the  whole,  he  was  very  kind.  One  of  them,  named 
Isam,  had  been  with  him  from  childhood;  in  fact,  they  had  sort 
of  grown  up  together.  Isam  had  an  annual  runaway  freak,  which 
usually  lasted  about  a  fortnight.  The  strangeness  of  this  action 
on  the  part  of  his  slave  troubled  the  Major  more  than  a  little, 
not  that  he  cared  an  iota  for  his  loss  of  time,  nor  for  his  bad 
example,  but  it  galled  him  to  think  that  there  was  anything  in 
connection  with  a  negro  which  he  could  not  fathom.  At  last  the 
Major  struck  upon  a  plan  whereby  he  should  solve  the  mystery, 
and  he  accordingly  threatened  Isam  with  dire  punishment  if  he 
should  go  off  another  time  without  letting  him  know.  The  threat 
had  the  desired  effect;  the  Major  was  duly  informed;  where- 
upon, to  the  astonishment  of  the  negro,  the  master  signified  his 
intention  to  accompany  him  on  his  expedition,  and  accordingly 
the  two  runaways  started.  For  nearly  two  weeks  they  remained 
in  the  woods,  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  their  home,  where  they 
lived  in  a  semi-civilized  state,  hunting,  fishing,  and  foraging,  both, 
indeed,  enjoying  themselves  hugely.  A  day  or  two  prior  to  their 
return,  they  had  been  out  foraging  for  dinner,  and  were  on  their 
way  to  camp,  heavily  laden  with  their  spoils.    The  two  had  just 


HUMOR  215 

reached  the  edge  of  the  canebrake,  beyond  which  lay  the  camp, 
and  were  entering  the  narrow  path,  when  a  magnificent  buck  came 
sweeping  through,  and  collided  with  Isam  with  such  force  and  sud- 
denness as  to  crush  and  spatter  his  watermelons  into  a  pitiful  ruin, 
and  throw  the  negro  violently  to  the  ground.  Instantly  the 
frightened  man  seized  the  threatening  antlers  and  held  on,  yelling 
lustily  for  help.  The  deer  made  several  ineffectual  efforts  to 
free  himself,  during  which  he  dragged  the  negro  right  and  left 
without  difficulty,  but,  finding  escape  impossible,  turned  fiercely 
upon  his  unwilling  captor,  and  tried  to  drive  the  terrible  horns 
through  his  writhing  body. 

"O  Lord!  O  Lord!"  screamed  Isam;  "O  Lord!  Mass^ 
Craffud,  cum  holp  me  tu'n  dis  buck  loos*." 

The  laugh  dkd  away  from  Major  Worthington's  lips.  None 
knew  better  than  he  the  danger  into  which  Isam  had  plunged. 
Not  a  stick,  brush,  stone,  or  weapon  of  any  description  was  at 
hand,  except  his  small  pocketknife.  Hastily  opening  that,  he 
rushed  upon  the  deer.  Isam's  eyes  were  bursting  from  their  sock- 
ets, and  appealed  piteously  for  the  help  his  stentorian  voice  was 
frantically  imploring,  until  the  woods  rang  with  his  agony.  Major 
Worthington  caught  the  nearest  antler  with  his  left  hand,  and 
made  a  fierce  lunge  at  the  animal's  throat.  But  the  point  of  the 
knife  was  missing,  and  only  a  trifling  wound  was  inflicted.  The 
next  instant,  the  deer  met  the  new  attack  with  a  rush  that  carried 
Isam  with  it,  and  thrust  the  Major  to  the  ground,  the  knife  fall- 
ing out  of  reach.  Seeing  this,  the  negro  let  go  his  hold,  rolled  out 
of  the  way,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  literally  ran  upon  the  top 
of  a  branching  haw-bush,  where  he  lay  spread  out  like  a  bat,  and 
moaning  piteously. 

"  Stick  ter  'im,  Mass'  Craffud,  stick  ter  'im!  Wo'  deer!  wo' 
deer!     Stick  ter  'im,  Mass'  Craffud." 

And  the  Major  stuck.  Retaining  his  presence  of  mind,  he 
threw  his  left  arm  over  the  deer's  neck,  and,  still  holding  with 
his  right  the  antler,  looked  about  for  Isam,  who  had  so  mysteri- 
ously disappeared. 

"  Stick  ter  'im.  Mass'  Craffud,  stick  ter  'im.  Hit 's  better  fur 
one  ter  die  den  bofe!  Hole  'im.  Mass'  Craffud,  hole  'im!  Wo' 
deer!  wo'  deer!  Stick  ter  'im,  Mass'  Craffud,  steddy!  Look  out 
fur  es  ho'n !    Wo'  deer !    Steddy,  Mass'  Craffud !  " 

By  this  time  the  struggles  of  the  beast  had  again  ceased,  and, 


216  CHOICE  READINGS 

wearied  from  his  double  encounter,  he  stood  with  his  head  pulled 
down  to  the  ground  half  astride  the  desperate  man,  who  was  hold* 
ing  on  for  life.  Whether  Major  Worthington  was  frightened  or 
not  it  is  hard  to  say;  probably  he  was;  but  there  was  no  doubt 
about  his  being  angry  when  he  saw  Isam  spread  out  in  the  haw- 
bush,  and  heard  his  address.  As  soon  as  he  caught  his  breath, 
he  burst  forth  with. 

*'  You  black  rascal !  why  do  n^t  you  come  —  down  out  of  that 
—  bush  and  help  —  me  ?  "  Isam's  face  was  pitiful  in  its  expres- 
sion. His  teeth  chattered,  and  he  fairly  shook  the  bush  with  his 
trembling. 

"  Do  n',  Mass*  Craffud,  do  n' ;  you  ain'  got  no  time  ter  cuss 
now.  Lif  up  yo'  voice  en*  pray!  Ef  ev'r  er  man  had  er  call  ter 
pray,  you  dun  got  it  now." 

"If  ever  —  I  get  loose  from  this  —  brute  —  you  scoundrel  — 
I  '11  not  leave  a  —  whole  bone  in  your  body!  '* 

"  Don*  say  dat.  Mass'  Craffud,  don' !  you  must  n't  let  de  sun 
go  down  on  yo'  wrafi  O  Lord!  don'  you  mine  nuth'n  he  es  er 
sayin'  now,  cos  he  ain'  'spons'b'l'.  Ef  de  bes'  aingil  you  got  wuz 
down  dere  in  his  fix,  dey  ain'  no  tell'n'  w'at  ud  happ'n,  er  w'at 
sorter  langwidge  he'd  let  loos'.  Wo'  deer!  wo'  deer!  Stick  ter 
'im,  Mass'  CrafFud,  stick  ter  'im.  Steddy,  deer!  steddy,  Mass' 
Craffud!" 

Again  the  deer  commenced  to  struggle,  and  by  this  time  the 
Major's  breath  was  almost  gone,  and  his  anger  had  given  way  to  «. 
unmistakable  apprehension.     He  realized  that  he  was  in  a  mostj 
desperate   plight,   and   that  the  only  hope  of   rescue  lay  in   the 
frightened  negro  up  in  the  haw-bush.     He  changed  his  tactics 
when  the  deer  rested  again. 

"  Isam,"  he  said,  gently. 

"  Yes,  honey." 

"  Isam,  come  and  help  me,  old  fellow." 

"  Mass'  Craffud,  dere  ain'  nuthin'  I  woodn'  do  fur  you,  but 
hit 's  better  fur  one  ter  die'n  two.    Hit 's  a  long  sight  better." 

"  But  there  is  no  danger,  Isam ;  none  whatever.  Just  you  come 
down  and  with  your  knife  hamstring  the  brute.    I  '11  hold  him." 

''  No,  sah !  no,  sah !  no,  sah !  "  said  Isam,  loudly,  and  with  grow- 
ing earnestness.  "  No,  sah !  it  won'  wuk !  no,  sah !  You  er  in  fur 
hit  now  Mass'  Craffud,  en'  et  can't  be  holped.  Dere  ain'  nuthin' 
kin  save  yer  but  de  good  Lord,  en'  He  ain'  go'n'ter,  less'n  you  ax 


I 


HUMOR  217 

'im  'umble  like,  en'  er  b'liev'n  'en  es  mussy.  I  prayed  w'en  I  wuz 
down  dere,  Mass'  Craffud,  dat  I  did,  en'  look  w'at  happ'n.  Didn' 
He  sen'  you  like  er  aingil,  en'  didn'  He  git  me  up  hyah  safe  en' 
wholesum?  Dat  He  did,  en'  He  nev'r  spec'  dis  nigg'r  war 
go'n'ter  fling  esse'f  und'r  dat  deer  arter  He  trubbl'  Hisse'f  to  show 
'im  up  hyah.  Stick  ter  'im,  Mass'  Craffud,  stick  ter  'im.  Wo' 
deer!  wo'  deer!  Look  ou'  fur  es  ho'n!  Stick  ter  im,  Mass' 
Craffud.     Dere,  now  —  t'ank  de  Lord!  " 

Again  the  Major  got  a  breathing-spell.  The  deer,  in  his  strug- 
gles, had  gotten  under  the  haw-bush,  and  the  Major  renewed  his 
earnest  negotiations. 

"  Isam,  if  you  will  get  down  —  and  cut  this  brute's  legs  —  I 
will  give  you  your  freedom." 
Isam  answered  with  a  groan. 

"And  fifty  acres  —  of  land."     Again  that  pitiful  moan. 
"  And  —  a  mule  and  a  —  year's  rations."    The  Major  paused 
from  force  of  circumstances.     After  awhile  the  answer  came: 
"Mass'  Craffud?" 
"Well?" 

"You  know  dis  nigg'r  b'en  hard-work'n  en'  hones'  en'  look 
atter  you  en'  yo'n  all  es  life." 

"  Yes,  Isam,"  said  the  Major,  "  you  have  been  —  a  faithful, 
honest  —  nigger."  There  was  another  pause.  Perhaps  this  was 
too  much  for  Isam.     But  he  continued  after  a  little  while: 

"  Well,  lemme  tell  you,  honey,  dere  ain'  nuthin'  you  got  er 
kin  git  w'at'll  tem'  dis  nigg'r  ter  git  down  dere.  W'y,"  and  his 
voice  assumed  a  most  earnest  and  argumentative  tone,  "  deed'n 
hit  ud  be  'sultin'  de  Lord.  Ain'  He  dun  got  me  up  hyar  out'n 
de  way,  en'  don'  He  'spec'  me  fur  ter  stay?  You  reck'n  He  got 
nuth'n  'tall  ter  do  but  keep  puttin'  Isam  back  up  er  free?  No, 
sah!  He  dun  'ten  ter  me,  an'  ef  you  got  enny  dif'culty,  you  en'  de 
deer  kin  fight  it  out.  Hit 's  my  bizness  jes  ter  keep  er  prayin'. 
Wo'  deer!  wo'  deer!  Steddy,  Mass'  Craffud.  Dere  now  —  tank 
de  Lord!" 

Again  the  Major  defeated  the  beast's  struggles,  and  there  came 
a  truce.  But  the  man  was  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  saw  that  un- 
less something  was  done  in  his  behalf  he  must  soon  yield  up  the 
fight.     So  he  decided  to  touch  the  negro's  superstitious  side: 

"  Isam,"  he  said,  slowly  and  impressively.  But  Isam  was 
praying.  The  Major  could  hardly  trust  his  ears  when  he  heard 
the  words: 


218  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  But,  Lord,  don'  let  'm  *peer'sh  fo'  yo'  eyes.  He's  b'en  er 
bad  man.  He  cuss  'n'  sware,  'n'  play  keerds,  'n'  bet  on  horse- 
race, 'n'  drink  whisky " 

^^Isam " 

"  En'  he  steal  —  goodness,  he  tek  ter  steal'n'  like  er  duck  ter 
water.  Roast'n  yers,  watermilluns,  chick'n  —  nuthin'  too  bad  fur 
'im " 

"Isam " 


The  word  came  upward  in  tones  of  thunder.  Even  Isam  was 
obliged  to  regard  it. 

"Yes,  sah?" 

"  Isam,  I  am  going  to  die." 

Isam  gave  a  yell  that  ought  to  have  been  heard  a  mile  away. 

"  Oh!  do  n't  let  'im  die!  Skeer  'im,  skeer  'im,  Lord;  but  don' 
let 'im  die!" 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Major,  "  I  am  going  to  die;  but  let  me 
tell  you  something,  Isam.  I  have  been  looking  into  this  beast's 
eyes  until  I  recognize  him."  A  sound  came  from  the  haw-bush 
like  the  hiss  of  a  snake,  as  the  negro  with  ashen  face  and  beaded 
brow  gasped  out  an  unintelligible  word.  The  right  chord  had 
been  touched  at  last.  "  You  remember  Dr.  Sam,  who  died  last 
year  ?  "  Isam's  only  reply  was  a  moan  that  betrayed  an  agony  too 
deep  for  expression.  "  Well,  this  is  Dr.  Sam ;  he  got  loose  the 
other  day  when  the  plug  fell  out  of  the  tree,  and  he  and  I  will 
never  give  you  another  hour  of  peace  as  long  as  you  live." 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  With  a  shriek  that  was 
blood-curdling  in  its  intensity  of  fear  and  horror,  the  negro  came 
crashing  down  through  the  bush  with  his  hands  full  of  leaves, 
straight  upon  the  deer. 

This  was  the  crisis. 

The  frightened  animal  made  one  desperate  plunge,  taking  the 
startled  Major  by  surprise,  and  the  next  instant  found  himself 
free.  He  did  not  remain  upon  the  scene,  or  he  would  have  be- 
held the  terrified  negro  get  upon  his  feet,  run  round  in  a  frenzy  of 
terror,  and  close  his  last  circle  at  the  foot  of  the  bush,  up  which 
he  scurried  again  like  a  squirrel,  old  as  he  was.  The  Major  lay 
flat  upon  his  back,  after  trying  in  vain  to  rise.  Then  the  reaction 
came.  He  fixed  his  eye  upon  the  negro  above,  and  laughed  until 
the  tears  washed  the  dirt  from  his  face;  and  Isam,  holding  his 
head  up  so  that  his  vision  could  encompass  the  narrow  horizx)!!, 
said  slowly  and  impressively: 


HUMOR  219 

"  Mass'  Craffud,  ef  de  Lord  had  n't  'sist*d  on  Isam  cum  n 
down  ter  run  dat  deer  off,  'spec'  by  dis  time  you'd  been  er  flop- 
p'n  yo'  wings  up  yander,  er  else  sput'n  on  er  gridiron  down  yan- 
der."  And  from  his  elevated  perch  Isam  indicated  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  eternity  with  an  eloquent  sweep  of  his  hand. 

But  the  Major  had  small  time  for  laughter  or  recrimination. 
In  the  distance  there  rang  out  faintly  the  full-mouthed  cry  of  a 
hound.  Isam  heard  it.  For  him  it  was  at  once  a  welcome  and 
a  stimulating  sound.  Gliding  to  the  ground,  he  helped  the  wearied 
Major  to  his  feet,  and  started  on  a  run  for  the  boat,  crying: 

"  Run,  Mass'  Craffud !  wors'n  er  deer  's  cummin'.  Hit  's  dem 
folks  w'at  know  about  dat  corn  'en  watermilluns  ye  tuke  from 
dere  patch,  'en  yer  can't  'splain  nuthin'  ter  er  houn'  dog." 

Broken  down  as  he  was,  the  Major  realized  that  there  was 
wisdom  in  the  negro's  words,  and  followed  as  best  he  could.  The 
camp  traps  were  thrown  into  the  boat,  and  the  little  bark  was 
launched.  A  minute  later  the  form  of  a  great,  thirsty-looking 
hound  appeared  on  the  scene.  But  .the  hunters  who  came  after 
found  naught  beyond  the  signs  of  a  camp. 

How  Isam  ever  settled  his  difficulty  needs  no  explanation. 
But  it  may  interest  the  reader  to  know  that  one  day  he  bore  a 
message  and  a  check  that  settled  the  corn  and  melon  debt;  and 
they  tell  it  In  Middle  Georgia  that  every  year  thereafter,  until 
the  war-cloud  broke  over  the  land,  whenever  the  catalpa  worm 
crept  upon  the  leaf,  two  runaways  fled  from  Woodhaven  and 
dwelt  in  the  swamps,  "  loos'  en  free." 

—  H.  S.  Edwards, 


A  STUDY  IN  NERVES 

A  small  door  at  the  right  of  the  pulpit  opened,  and  he  walked 
to  his  place  before  the  altar.  It  had  already  been  indicated  by 
an  inconspicuous  chalk  mark  on  the  floor.  His  best  man  followed 
a  little  behind  him  at  an  Interval  which  had  required  frequent  re- 
hearsing the  evening  before.  He  did  not  catch  his  chalk  mark 
for  an  instant,  and  overstepped  it,  but  he  retreated  cautiously, 
still  facing  the  enemy,  and  carefully  covered  it  with  his  foot. 

People  had  been  pouring  into  the  church  for  the  last  half  hour. 
At  last  all  those  who  had  been  invited  had  been  given  the  front 
seatft.    There  was  a  slight-  Quttf^r  m  tb/? ^udieace  when  the  brides 


220  CHOICE  READINGS 

mother  and  her  two  married  sisters  were  escorted  to  their  seats 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  aisle  from  that  set  apart  for  the  bride- 
groom's family,  in  the  suggestively  antagonistic  manner  which  is 
customary  when  two  houses  are  about  to  be  united. 

From  his  chalk  mark  by  the  altar  he  gazed  rather  unintelli- 
gently  at  the  blur  of  faces  turned  towards  him.  Why  should  they 
all  be  staring  at  him?  Was  b'  cravat  slipping  up  over  his  col- 
lar? Only  a  hoarse  but  reassi,i'Uig  ''  You  're  all  right,  old  man!  " 
brought  his  wandering  haniJ  back  to  his  side  again.  But  why 
didn't  the  music  begin? 

The  vast  aggregated  stare  of  the  throng  in  front  of  him  gradu- 
ally resolved  itself  into  its  elements.  It  struck  him  that  every 
one  seemed  remarkably  solemn,  as  if  it  were  an  occasion  for  sad- 
ness rather  than  for  smiles.  Why  could  n't  they  look  pleasant 
about  it?  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  felt  solemn  himself, 
and  the  cheerful  and  sympathetic  grin  on  the  face  of  one  of  his 
still-bachelor  classmates,  whom  he  had  suddenly  discovered,  seemed 
decidedly  out  of  place  and  frivolous. 

But  none  the  less,  something  seemed  required  of  him.  Should 
he  grin  back,  or  should  he  merely  wink  in  acknowledgment?  The 
rehearsal  had  not  prepared  him  for  this  emergency.  He  shirked 
the  responsibility  of  deciding  and  looked  away. 

Why  didn't  the  music  begin?  Why  didn't  they  open  those 
doors?  Had  anything  gone  wrong?  Had  any  one  arrived  at 
the  last  moment  to  announce  some  good  cause  why  they  two  should 
not  be  joined  together  in  holy  wedlock?  No,  thank  heaven,  he 
could  face  the  world  on  that  score.  None  the  less,  he  felt  that  it 
must  be  fearfully  late.  Yet  he  had  been  told  that  everything  was 
all  ready,  and  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  take  his  place  on  his 
chalk  mark.  What  were  they  waiting  for?  Had  he  not  waited 
long  enough  already? 

Why  did  n't  the  music  begin  ?  If  he  could  only  look  at  his 
watch  and  see  what  time  it  really  was,  it  would  relieve  his  mind. 
He  remembered  that  he  had  never  seen  it  done,  and  kept  his  hands 
fast  at  the  seams  of  his  trousers,  out  of  temptation. 

Suddenly  the  doors  were  pushed  back  and  the  bridal  party 
appeared  in  the  opening.  Behind  the  double  file  of  somber-hued 
ushers  his  eye  caught  a  bit  of  color  from  the  dress  of  one  of  the 
bridesmaids,  and  then  rested  for  a  moment  upon  a  little  cloud  of 
pure  swanlike  white.     Thank  heaven,  there  she  was.     And  as 


HUMOR  221 

she  was  there,  why  didn't  the  music  begin?  The  tallest  usher 
changed  his  position,  and  the  little  white  cloud  disappeared  behind 
his  broad  black  shoulder.  Confound  him,  why  could  n't  he  stand 
still,  when  that  was  the  first  glimpse  he  had  had  of  her  for  good- 
ness only  knew  how  long! 

There  they  all  stood  in  the  doorway,  his  seven  best  friends  and 
the  girl's  usher.  He  supposed  there  was  no  reason  now,  from  his 
point  of  view,  why  that  unfortunate  should  not  be  one  of  his 
friends,  too.  He  felt  that  he  had  never  appreciated  the  fellow's 
good  qualities  so  strongly  as  at  that  moment.  He  remembered 
that  when  she  had  at  first  spoken  to  him  of  her  usher  he  had  sug- 
gested to  her  the  inadvisability  of  inviting  a  man  to  be  present  at 
his  own  funeral,  and  how  she  had  insisted  that  her  usher  she  would 
have.    There  he  was,  so  why  did  n't  the  music  begin  ? 

He  saw  the  black  back  of  the  organist  suddenly  fill  out  as  with 
the  responsibility  of  his  exalted  position,  and  the  next  instant  the 
familiar  "  tum-tum-ti-tum  "  pealed  through  the  church.  He  felt 
that  his  troubles  were  over,  for  anything  was  better  than  that 
silent  staring. 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  make  out  what  had  all  at  once 
changed  the  appearance  of  things  so  much.  Then  he  discovered 
that  the  sea  of  faces  had  turned  into  an  equally  bewildering  ex- 
hibition of  back  hair.  What  was  the  matter  with  his  mind,  any- 
way?   Why  couldn't  he  stop  thinking?     .,^j^    t - 

"  Tum-tum-ti-tum."  The  music  not  only  had  begun,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  it  had  always  been  playing.  Why  did  they 
not  start?  What  was  the  use  of  all  that  rehearsing  if  they  did  n't 
know  what  to  do  when  the  time  came?  "Tum-tum-ti-tum," 
played  the  organist. 

It  seemed  an  easy  matter  for  eight  grown  men  to  walk  up  a 
broad  aisle  together,  two  by  two,  a  certain  distance  apart.  They 
had  done  it  half  a  dozen  times  the  night  before.  It  was  per- 
fectly simple.  They  were  to  be  two  pews  apart.  Or  was  it  three 
pews?    "  Ti-tum-tum-ti-tum.'* 

He  did  n't  know  which  it  was,  but  it  was  no  affair  of  his,  any- 
way. All  he  had  to  do  was  to  stay  on  his  chalk  mark  until  it 
was  time  for  him  to  go  to  that  other  chalk  mark  over  there  to 
receive  her.  There  it  was,  a  little  rubbed  out,  to  be  sure,  but 
seeming  to  him  like  the  guiding  star  to  the  path  of  matrimony, 
and  to  it  he  had  hitched  his  wagon.    A  scarcely  breathed     They  re 


222  CHOICE  READINGS 

off!  "  at  his  elbow,  brought  him  back  to  earth  again.  Thej^  were 
coming  through  the  door.  It  was  two  pews  apart  after  all.  He 
knew  he  had  been  right.  He  noticed  that  the  girl's  usher  seemed 
as  cheerful  as  could  be  expected  of  him.  He  wondered  how  he 
would  feel  if  he  had  to  change  places  with  him.  How  had  it 
happened  that  their  places  were  not  changed?  He  knew  that  he 
was  a  better  fellow  than  the  girl's  usher,  of  course,  but  how  had 
he  managed  to  make  her  believe  it?  He  knew  better  men  than  he 
who  had  been  girls'  ushers  in  their  time.   ^^ 

"  Tum-tum-ti-tum.*'      ii..^;^     J-*^ 

The  two  ushers  in  the  lead  were  within  twenty  feet  of  him. 
Why  did  n't  they  move  faster?  It  made  him  nervous  to  see  them 
advancing  upon  him  like  that.  It  was  like  the  car  of  Juggernaut 
or  the  inexorable  march  of  time.  They  were  bringing  him  the  hap- 
piness of  his  whole  life.  Why  did  n't  they  bring  it  to  him  faster? 
There  they  were,  coming  at  him  in  the  same  relentless  way.  All 
of  them  were  the  pendulum,  swinging  nearer  and  nearer,  to  push 
him  into  the  pit.  ,^.^--        "^ 

"  Tum-tum-ti-tum-tum."  '^  ~¥^  1  .    ^* 

The  tw^o  ushers  in  the  lead  were  so  near  him  tfiat  he  could 
see  the  pearls  on  the  pins  he  had  given  them.  There  she  was, 
Heaven  bless  her !  What  was  the  sense  of  all  this  bother  ?  Why 
could  n't  he  rush  down  the  aisle  and  get  her,  all  by  himself  ?  His 
eye  fell  upon  the  relentless  chalk  mark  before  him,  and  he  shifted 
his  wxight  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

The  two  files  of  ushers  had  begun  to  deploy  on  either  side  of 
him,  each  man  trying  to  keep  one  eye  on  his  alignment,  and  with 
the  other  to  steer  for  the  haven  of  his  own  particular  chalk  mark. 
As  the  last  one  disappeared  from  view  behind  him,  he  felt  that 
he  never  wanted  to  see  one  of  them  again  after  the  way  they  had 
just  treated  him.  The  next  moment  the  bridesmaids  were  trip- 
ping by  him,  guided  to  their  positions  by  that  unerring  instinct  in 
regard  to  all  that  pertains  to  weddings,  which  is  every  woman's 
birthright.  £  e    ^  y 

Then  the  final  '^  tum-tum-ti-tum  "  rang  out  triumphantly  into 
every  corner  of  the  church.  He  rushed  to  the  now  benignly-in- 
viting chalk  mark,  and  in  an  instant  her  hand  was  in  his  own. 

—  Anonymous. 


HUMOR  223 

PICKWICK  IN  THE  WRONG  BEDROOM 

Haying  carefully  drawn  the  curtains  of  his  bed  on  the  outside. 
Mr.  Pickwick  sat  down  on  the  rush-bottomed  chair,  and  leisurely 
divested  himself  of  his  shoes  and  gaiters.  He  then  took  off  and 
folded  up  his  coat,  waistcoat,  arid  neckcloth,  and  slowly  drawing 
on  his  tasseled  nightcap,  secured  it  firmly  on  his  head  by  tying 
beneath  his  chin  the  strings  which  he  always  had  attached  to  that 
article  of  dress.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  absurdity  of  his 
recent  bewilderment  struck  upon  his  mind.  Throwing  himself 
back  in  the  rush-bottomed  chair,  Mr.  Pickwick  laughed  to  him- 
self so  heartily  that  it  would  have  been  quite  delightful  to  any 
man  of  well-constituted  mind  to  have  watched  the  smiles  that  ex- 
panded his  amiable  features  as  they  shone  forth  from  beneath  the 
nightcap. 

*'  It  is  the  best  idea,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick  to  himself,  smiling 
till  he  almost  cracked  the  nightcap  strings,  "  It  is  the  best  idea, 
my  losing  myself  in  this  place,  and  wandering  about  those  stair- 
cases, that  I  ever  heard  of.  Droll,  droll,  very  droll."  Here  Mr. 
Pickwick  smiled  again,  a  broader  smile  than  before,  and  was 
about  to  continue  the  process  of  undressing,  in  the  best  possible 
humor,  when  he  was  suddenly  stopped  by  a  most  unexpected  inter- 
ruption, to-wit,  the  entrance  into  the  room  of  some  person  with 
a  candle,  who,  after  locking  the  door,  advanced  to  the  dressing- 
table  and  set  down  the  light  upon  it. 

The  smile  that  played  on  Mr.  Pickwick's  features  was  in- 
stantaneously lost  in  a  look  of  the  most  unbounded  and  wonder- 
stricken;  surprise.  The  person,  whoever  it  was,  had  come  in  so 
suddenly  and  with  so  little  noise,  that  Mr.  Pickwick  had  had  no 
time  to  call  out,  or  oppose  their  entrance.  Who  could  it  be?  A 
robber?  Some  evil-minded  person  who  had  seen  him  come  up- 
stairs with  a  handsome  watch  in  his  hand,  perhaps.  What  was 
he  to  do? 

The  only  way  in  which  Mr.  Pickwick  could  catch  a  glimpse 
of  his  mysterious  visitor  with  the  least  danger  of  being  seen  him- 
self, was  by  creeping  on  to  the  bed,  and  peeping  out  from  between 
the  curtains  on  the  opposite  side.  To  this  manoeuvre  he  accord- 
ingly resorted.  Keeping  the  curtains  carefully  closed  with  his 
hand,  so  that  nothing  more  of  him  could  be  seen  than  his  face 
and  nightcap,  and  putting  on  his  spectacles,  he  mustered  up  cour- 
age and  looked  out. 


224  CHOICE  READINGS 

Mr.  Pickwick  almost  fainted  with  horror  and  dismay.  Stand-  J 
ing  before  the  dressing  glass  was  a  middle-aged  lady,  in  yellow  f 
curl-papers,  busily  engaged  in  brushing  what  ladies  call  their 
"  back  hair."  However  the  unconscious  middle-aged  lady  came 
into  that  room,  it  was  quite  clear  that  she  contemplated  remain- 
ing there  for  the  night;  for  she  had  brought  a  rush-light  and 
shade  with  her,  which,  with  praiseworthy  precaution  against  fire, 
she  had  stationed  in  a  basin  on  the  floor,  where  it  was  glimmering 
away  like  a  gigantic  lighthouse  in  a  particularly  small  piece  of 
water. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  thought  Mr.  Pickwick,  "  what  a  dreadful 
thing!" 

"Hem!"  said  the  lady;  and  in  went  Mr.  Pickwick's  head, 
with  automaton-like  rapidity. 

"  I  never  met  with  anything  so  awful  as  this,"  thought  poor 
Mr.  Pickwick,  the  cold  perspiration  starting  in  drops  upon  his 
nightcap.     "  Never.    This  is  fearful." 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  resist  the  urgent  desire  to  see  what 
was  going  forward.  So  out  went  Mr.  Pickwick's  head  again. 
The  prospect  was  worse  than  before.  The  middle-aged  lady  had 
finished  arranging  her  hair;  had  carefully  enveloped  it  in  a  mus- 
lin nightcap  with  a  small  plaited  border,  and  was  gazing  pen- 
sively on  the  fire. 

"  This  matter  is  growing  alarming,"  reasoned  Mr.  Pickwick 
with  himself.  "  I  can't  allow  things  to  go  on  in  this  way.  By 
the  self-possession  of  that  lady,  it  is  clear  to  me  that  I  must  have 
come  into  the  wrong  room.  If  I  call  out  she  '11  alarm  the  house; 
but  if  I  remain  here,  the  consequences  will  be  still  more  frightful." 

Mr.  Pickwick,  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say,  was  one  of  the 
most  modest  and  delicate-minded  of  mortals.  The  very  idea  of 
exhibiting  his  nightcap  to  a  lady  overpowered  him,  but  he  had  tied 
those  confounded  strings  in  a  knot,  and  do  what  he  would,  he 
could  n't  get  it  off.  The  disclosure  must  be  made.  There  was 
only  one  other  way  of  doing  it.  He  shrunk  behind  the  curtains, 
and  called  out  very  loudly: 

"Ha  — hum!" 

That  the  lady  started  at  this  unexpected  sound  was  evident, 
by  her  falling  up  against  the  rushlight  shade;  that  she  persuaded 
herself  it  must  have  been  the  effect  of  imagination  was  equally 
dear,  for  when  Mr.  Pickwick,  under  the  impression  that  she  had 


HUMOR  225 

fainted  away  stone-dead  from  fright,  ventured  to  peep  out  again, 
she  was  gazing  pensively  on  the  fire  as  before. 

**  Most  extraordinary  female  this,"  thought  Mr,  Pickwick, 
popping  in  again.     "  Ha  —  hum!  '* 

These  last  sounds,  so  like  those  in  which,  as  legends  inform 
us,  the  ferocious  giant  Blunderbore  was  in  the  habit  of  expressing 
his  opinion  that  it  was  time  to  lay  the  cloth,  were  too  distinctly 
audible  to  be  again  mistaken  for  the  workings  of  fancy. 

"Gracious  Heaven!"  said  the  middle-aged  lady.  "What  is 
that?" 

"  It's  —  It's  —  only  a  gentleman,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick 
from  behind  the  curtains. 

"A  gentleman!  "  said  the  lady,  with  a  terrific  scream. 

"  It 's  all  over!  "  thought  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  A  strange  man !  "  shrieked  the  lady.  Another  instant  and 
the  house  would  be  alarmed.  Her  garments  rustled  as  she  rushed 
toward  the  door. 

"  Ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  thrusting  out  his  head  in  the 
extremity  of  his  desperation,  "  Ma'am!  " 

Now,  although  Mr.  Pickwick  was  not  actuated  by  any  definite 
object  in  putting  out  his  head,  it  was  instantaneously  productive 
of  a  good  effect.  The  lady,  as  we  have  already  stated,  was  near 
the  door.  She  must  pass  it,  to  reach  the  staircase,  and  she  would 
most  undoubtedly  have  done  so  by  this  time,  had  not  the  sudden 
apparition  of  Mr.  Pickwick's  nightcap  driven  her  back  into  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  apartment,  where  she  stood,  staring  wildly 
at  Mr.  Pickvnck,  while  Mr.  Pickwick  in  his  turn  stared  wildly  at 
her. 

"  Wretch,"  said  the  lady,  covering  her  eyes  vdth  her  hands, 
"  what  do  you  want  here?  " 

"  Nothing,  ma'am;  nothing  whatever,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Pick- 
wick earnestly. 

"  Nothing!  "  said  the  lady,  looking  up. 

"  Nothing,  ma'am,  upon  my  honor,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  nod- 
ding his  head  so  energetically  that  the  tassel  of  his  nightcap  danced 
again.  "  I  am  almost  ready  to  sink,  ma'am,  beneath  the  confusion 
of  addressing  a  lady  in  my  nightcap  (here  the  lady  hastily  snatched 
off  hers),  but  I  can't  get  it  off,  ma'am  (here  Mr.  Pickwick  gave 
it  a  tremendous  tug,  in  proof  of  the  statement).  It  is  evident  to 
me,  ma'am,  now,  that  I  have  mistaken  this  bedroom  for  my  own. 


226  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  had  not  been  here  five  minutes,  ma'am,  when  you  suddenly  en- 
tered it." 

"  If  this  improbable  story  be  really  true,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  sob- 
bing violently,  '*  you  will  leave  it  instantly." 

*'  I  will,  ma'am,  with  the  greatest  pleasure,"  replied  Mr, 
Pickwick. 

"  Instantly,  sir,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Certainly,  ma'am,"  interposed  Mr.  Pickwick  very  quickly. 
"  Certainly,  ma'am.  I  —  I  —  am  very  sorry,  ma'am,"  said  Mr. 
Pickwick,  making  his  appearance  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed,  '^  to 
have  been  the  innocent  occasion  of  this  alarm  and  emotion ;  deeply 
sorry,  ma'am." 

The  lady  pointed  to  the  door.  One  excellent  quality  of  Mr. 
Pickwick's  character  was  beautifully  displayed  at  this  moment, 
under  the  most  trying  circumstances.  Although  he  had  hastily 
put  on  his  hat  over  his  nightcap,  after  the  manner  of  the  old 
patrol;  although  he  carried  his  shoes  and  gaiters  in  his  hand,  and 
his  coat  and  waistcoat  over  his  arm,  nothing  could  subdue  his  na- 
tive politeness. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  bowing 
very  low. 

"  If  you  are,  sir,  you  will  at  once  leave  the  room,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  Immediately,  ma'am ;  this  Instant,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Pick- 
wick, opening  the  door  and  dropping  both  his  shoes  with  a  crash 
in  so  doing. 

"  I  trust,  ma'am,"  resumed  Mr.  Pickwick,  gathering  up  his 

shoes,  and  turning  round  to  bow  again:  "I  trust,  ma'am,  that 

my  unblemished  character,  and  the  devoted  respect  I  entertain  for 

your  sex,  will  plead  as  some  slight  excuse  for  this  —  "    But  before 

Mr.  Pickwick  could  conclude  the  sentence  the  lady  had  thrust  him 

into  the  passage,  and  locked  and  bolted  the  door  behind  him. 
♦  ^  ♦  ^  ^  ^ 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  suddenly  appearing  before  him, 
"  where  's  my  bedroom?  " 

Mr.  Weller  stared  at  his  master  with  the  most  emphatic  sur- 
prise; and  it  was  not  until  the  question  had  been  repeated  three 
several  times,  that  he  turned  round  and  led  the  way  to  the  long- 
sought  apartment. 

"  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick  as  he  got  into  bed,  "  I  have  made 


HUMOR  227 

one  of  the  most  extraordinary  mistakes  to-night,  that  ever  were 
heard  of." 

"  Wery  likely,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller,  drily. 

"But  of  this  I  am  determined,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick; 
"  that  if  I  were  to  stop  in  this  house  for  six  months,  I  would  never 
trust  myself  about  it,  alone,  again." 

"  That 's  the  wery  prudentest  resolution  as  you  could  come 
to,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  ''  You  rayther  want  somebody  to 
look  arter  you,  sir,  wen  your  judgment  goes  out  a  wisitin'." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Sam  ?  "  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 
He  raised  himself  in  bed  and  extended  his  hand,  as  if  he  were 
about  to  say  something  more;  but  suddenly  checking  himself, 
turned  round,  and  bade  his  valet  "  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  He  paused  when  he 
got  outside  the  door  —  shook  his  head  —  walked  on  —  stopped  — 
snufted  the  candle  —  shook  his  head  again  —  and  finally  proceeded 
slowly  to  his  chamber,  apparently  buried  in  the  profoundest  medi- 
tation. 

—  Charles  Dickens, 


PATHOS 

The  proper  rendition  of  all  pieces  of  pure  pathos  demands 
chiefly  three  conditions: 

First,  Natural  voice. 

Second,  Effusive  utterance. 

Third,  Slide  of  semitone. 

First, —  By  natural  voice  we  mean  the  conversational  voice, 
or  the  voice  we  all  have  by  nature.  Great  care  should  be  taken 
to  secure  the  purest  tone,  free  from  all  nasal,  guttural  and  pectoral 
qualities  of  voice.  A  clear,  pleasant  and  musical  tone  is  indispen- 
sable in  securing  the  best  effects. 

Second.  —  The  utterance  must  be  effusive,  i  e.,  flowing  from 
the  mouth  in  a  continuous  stream  of  sound.  If  a  staccato  or  com- 
monplace style  of  utterance  is  indulged  in,  the  reading  will  neces- 
sarily degenerate  into  mere  talk,  and  crush  out  all  sympathetic 
feeling. 

Third. —  In  ordinary,  unimpassioned  speech,  the  voice  passes 
through  the  interval  of  one  tone  on  the  musical  scale,  in  the  ut- 
terance of  each  word,  thus:  J 
"  That  quarter       most  the       skilful  Greeks         an  -  noy,     " 


Monotone.      Falling  Ditone,      Rising  Tritone.      Rising  Ditone. 
Where      yon  wild      fig  trees  join  the      walls      of  Troy." 


1  *'''  *^»n    »"*''  >^^'l    *"   •^ 


Falling  Tritone.         Alternation.  Triad  of  the  Cadence. 

The  radical  pitch  is  represented  by  the  heads  of  the  notes,  and 
the  concrete  pitch  by  the  short  stems  of  the  notes,  which,  on  ob- 
servation, will  be  seen  to  pass  to  the  note  above  or  below  the 
radical.    In  short,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  utter  a  word  in  unim- 

228 


^  PATHOS  229 

passioned  speech,  from  its  initiation  to  its  close,  without  passing 
up  or  down  the  musical  scale  one  tone.  However,  in  all  plaintive 
and  deeply  pathetic  moods  of  mind,  we  find,  on  investigation,  that 
the  slides  of  the  voice  are  one-half  as  long  as  they  are  in  ordinary 
discourse.  This  unconscious  slide  of  the  voice  on  the  minor  chord, 
as  exhibited  in  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  child,  or  the  weeping  utter- 
ance of  the  bereaved  mother,  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  voice 
necessary  to  the  expression  of  all  pathetic  selections.* 

The  student  should  now  select  one  of  the  pieces  given  under 
this  head,  and  endeavor  to  secure  the  effects  which  must  follow  from 
a  careful  application  of  the  foregoing  suggestions. 

It  will  be  found  of  great  service  in  the  acquirement  of  the 
semitonic  slide,  to  practice  the  musical  scale,  and  oftentimes  the 
sympathetic  study  of  a  piece,  thoroughly  saturated  with  pathetic 
emotion,  is  the  best  aid  in  the  acquisition  of  the  characteristics  of 
voice  necessary  to  the  effective  rendition  of  this  important  class  of 
selections.t 


SELECTION  FROM  ENOCH  ARDEN 

He  called  aloud  for  Miriam  Lane,  and  said, 

"  Woman,  I  have  a  secret  —  only  swear, 

Before  I  tell  you  —  swear  upon  the  book, 

Not  to  reveal  it  till  you  see  me  dead." 

"Dead,"  clamor'd  the  good  woman;   "hear  him  talk! 

I  warrant,  man,  that  we  shall  bring  you  round." 

"  Swear,"  added  Enoch,  sternly,  "  on  the  book." 

And  on  the  book,  half-frighted,  Miriam  swore. 

Then  Enoch,  rolling  his  gray  eyes  upon  her. 


*  It  may  be  well  to  note  that  this  pathetic  slide  is  not  measured  by  a 
half  tone  in  all  cases,  but  follows  the  voice  in  all  its  movements  up  and  down 
the  scale  on  the  third,  fifth  and  octave,  always  vanishing,  however,  on  a 
minor  chord. 

t  Exercises  on  the  vowels  should  constantly  be  used,  or  the  vowel  sounds 
in  the  selections  you  are  rendering.  Prolong  each  vowel  with  as  pure  and 
even  a  tone  as  possible,  in  order  that  the  vocal  organs  may  be  trained  to 
the  manufacture  of  the  clearest  musical  sounds,  thereby  ridding  the  voice 
of  all  harsh  and  unpleasant  qualities.  Evenness  and  steadiness  of  tone 
can  only  be  secured  by  perfect  control  in  the  management  of  the  breath. 


230  CHOICE  READINGS 

"Did  you  know  Enoch  Arden,  of  this  town?" 

"  Know  him?  "  she  said;  "  I  knew  him  far  away. 

Ay,  ay,  I  mind  him  coming  down  the  street; 

Held  his  head  high,  and  cared  for  no  man,  he." 

Slowly  and  sadly  Enoch  answer'd  her: 

"His  head  is  low,  and  no  man  cares  for  him. 

I  think  I  have  not  three  days  more  to  live; 

I  am  the  man."    At  which  the  woman  gave 

A  half  incredulous,  half  hysterical  cry. 

"  You  Arden,  you !  nay, —  sure  he  was  a  foot 

Higher  than  you  be."     Enoch  said  again, 

"  My  God  has  bow'd  me  down  to  what  I  am; 

My  grief  and  solitude  have  broken  me; 

Nevertheless,  know  you  that  I  am  he 

Who  married  —  but  that  name  has  twice  been  changed  - 

I  married  her  who  married  Philip  Ray. 

Sit,  listen !  "    Then  he  told  her  of  his  voyage, 

His  w^reck,  his  lonely  life,  his  coming  back, 

His  gazing  in  on  Annie,  his  resolve, 

And  how  he  kept  it.    As  the  woman  heard. 

Fast  flow'd  the  current  of  her  easy  tears, 

While  in  her  heart  she  yearn'd  incessantly 

To  rush  abroad,  all  round  the  little  haven, 

Proclaiming  Enoch  Arden  and  his  woes. 

But,  awed  and  promise-bounden,  she  forbore. 

Saying  only,  "  See  your  bairns  before  you  go! 

Eh,  let  me  fetch  ^em,  Arden,"  and  arose. 

Eager  to  bring  them  down,  for  Enoch  hung 

A  moment  on  her  words,  but  then  replied: 

"  Woman,  disturb  me  not  now  at  the  last, 

But  let  me  hold  my  purpose  till  I  die. 

Sit  down  again;  mark  me  and  understand. 

While  I  have  power  to  speak.     I  charge  you  now, 

When  you  shall  see  her,  tell  her  that  I  died 

Blessing  her,  praying  for  her,  loving  her; 

Save  for  the  bar  between  us,  loving  her 

As  when  she  laid  her  head  beside  my  own. 

And  tell  my  daughter,  Annie,  whom  I  saw 

So  like  her  mother,  that  my  latest  breath 

Was  spent  in  blessing  her  and  praying  for  her. 


PATHOS 

And  tell  my  son  that  I  died  blessing  him. 
And  say  to  Philip  that  I  blessed  him,  too; 
He  never  meant  us  anything  but  good. 
But  if  my  children  care  to  see  me  dead, 
Who  hardly  knew  me  living,  let  them  come, 
I  am  their  father ;  but  she  must  not  come. 
For  my  dead  face  v^ould  vex  her  after-life. 
And  now  there  is  but  one  of  all  my  blood 
Who  will  embrace  me  in  the  world-to-be: 
This  hair  is  his;  she  cut  it  off  and  gave  it, 
And  I  have  borne  it  with  me  all  these  years, 
And  thought  to  bear  it  with  me  to  my  grave; 
But  now  my  mind  is  changed,  for  I  shall  see  him, 
My  babe  in  bliss:  w^herefore,  when  I  am  gone, 
Take,  give  her  this,  for  it  may  comfort  her; 
It  will,  moreover,  be  a  token  to  her 
That  I  am  he." 

He  ceased;  and  Miriam  Lane 
Made  such  a  voluble  answer,  promising  all. 
That  once  again  he  roll'd  his  eyes  upon  her. 
Repeating  all  he  wish'd,  and  once  again 
She  promised. 

Then;  the  third  night  after  this. 
While  Enoch  slumber'd,  motionless  and  pale. 
And  Miriam  watched  and  dozed  at  intervals. 
There  came  so  loud  a  calling  of  the  sea 
That  all  the  houses  in  the  haven  rang. 
He  woke,  he  rose,  he  spread  his  arms  abroad, 
Crying,  with  a  loud  voice,  "A  sail!  a  sail! 
I  am  saved !  "    And  so  fell  back  and  spoke  no  more. 

So  passed  the  strong,  heroic  soul  away. 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


281 


232  CHOICE  READINGS 

LONGING  FOR  HOME 

A  song  of  a  boat :  — 

There  was  once  a  boat  on  a  billow : 
Lightly  she  rocked  to  her  port  remote, 
And  the  foam  was  white  in  her  wake  like  snow, 
And  her  frail  mast  bowed  when  the  breeze  would  blow. 
And  bent  like  a  wand  of  willow. 

I  shaded  mine  eyes  one  day  when  a  boat 

Went  curtseying  over  the  billow; 
I  marked  her  course  'til  a  dancing  mote 
She  faded  out  on  the  moonlit  foam. 
And  I  stayed  behind  in  the  dear  loved  home; 
And  my  thoughts  all  day  were  about  the  boat 
And  my  dreams  upon  the  pillow. 

I  pray  you  hear  my  song  of  a  boat, 

For  it  is  but  short:  — 
My  boat,  you  shall  find  none  fairer  afloat, 

In  river  or  port. 
Long  I  looked  out  for  the  lad  she  bore. 

On  the  open  desolate  sea, 
And  I  think  he  sailed  to  the  heavenly  shore, 

For  he  came  not  back  to  me  — 

Ah  me! 

A  song  of  a  nest: 

There  was  once  a  nest  in  a  hollow ; 
Down  in  the  mosses  and  knot-grass  pressed, 
Soft  and  warm,  and  full  to  the  brim. 
Vetches  leaned  over  it  purple  and  dim, 
With  buttercup  buds  to  follow. 

I  pray  you,  hear  my  song  of  a  nest, 

For  it  is  not  long:  — 
You  shall  never  light,  in  a  summer  quest, 

The  bushes  among  — 
Shall  never  light  on  a  prouder  sitter, 

A  fairer  nestful,  nor  ever  know 
A  softer  sound  than  their  tender  twitter, 

That  wind-like  did  come  and  go. 


PATHOS 

I  had  a  nestful  once  of  my  own, 

Ah  happy,  happy  I! 
Right  dearly  I  loved  them ;  but  when  they  were  grown, 

They  spread  out  their  wings  to  fly. 
O,  one  after  one  they  flew  away 

Far  up  to  the  heavenly  blue, 
Tj  the  better  country,  the  upper  day, 

And  —  I  wish  I  was  going,  too. 

I'pray  you,  what  is  the  nest  to  me, 

My  empty  nest? 
And  what  is  the  shore  where  I  stood  to  see 

My  boat  sail  down  to  the  west? 
Can  I  call  that  home  where  I  anchor  yet. 

Though  my  good  man  has  sailed  ? 
Can  I  call  that  home  where  my  nest  was  set, 

Now  all  its  hope  hath  failed? 

Nay,  but  the  port  where  my  sailor  went. 
And  the  land  where  my  nestlings  be; 
There  is  the  home  where  my  thoughts  are  sent, 
The  only  home  for  me  — 

Ah  me. 

—  Jean  Ingelow. 


233 


CONNOR 


"To  the  memory  of  Patrick  Connor;  this  simple  stone  was  erected  by 
his  fellow-workmen." 

Those  words  you  may  read  any  day  upon  a  white  slab  in  a 
cemetery  not  many  miles  from  New  York;  but  you  might  read 
them  an  hundred  times  without  guessing  at  the  little  tragedy  they 
indicate,  without  knowing  the  humble  romance  which  ended  with 
the  placing  of  that  stone  above  the  dust  of  one  poor  humble  man. 

In  his  shabby  frieze  jacket  and  mud-laden  brogans,  he  was 
scarcely  an  attractive  object  as  he  walked  into  Mr.  Bawne's  great 
tin  and  hardware  shop  one  day,  and  presented  himself  at  the  coun- 
ter with  an 

"  I  Ve  been  tould  ye  advertized  for  hands,  yer  honor." 

"  Fully  supplied,  my  man,"  said  Mr.  Bawne,  not  lifting  his 
head  from  his  account  book. 


284  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  I  'd  work  faithfully,  sir,  and  take  low  wages,  till  I  could  do 
better,  and  I  'd  learn  —  I  would  that." 

It  was  an  Irish  brogue,  and  Mr.  Bawne  always  declared  that 
he  never  would  employ  an  incompetent  hand. 

Yet  the  tone  attracted  him.  He  turned  briskly,  and  with  his 
pen  behind  his  ear,  addressed  the  man,  who  was  only  one  of  fifty 
who  had  answered  his  advertisement  for  four  workmen  that  morn- 
ing— 

"  What  makes  you  expect  to  learn  faster  than  other  folks  — ^; 
are  you  any  smarter  ?  '' 

"  I  '11  not  say  that,"  said  the  man;  "  but  I  'd  be  wishing  to, 
and  that  would  make  it  aisier." 

"  Are  you  used  to  the  work?  " 

"  I  Ve  done  a  bit  of  it." 

"Much?" 

"  No,  yer  honor,  I  11  tell  no  lie,  Tim  O'Toole  had  n't  the 
like  of  this  place;  but  I  know  a  bit  about  tins." 

"  You  are  too  old  for  an  apprentice,  and  you  'd  be  in  the  way, 
I  calculate,"  said  Mr.  Bawne,  looking  at  the  brawny  arms  and 
bright  eyes  that  promised  strength  and  intelligence.  "  Besides,  I 
know  your  countrymen  —  lazy,  good-for-nothing  fellows,  who 
never  do  their  best.  No,  I  've  been  taken  in  by  Irish  hands  before, 
and  I  won't  have  another." 

"  The  Virgin  will  have  to  be  after  bringing  them  over  to  me 
in  her  two  arms,  thin,"  said  the  man,  despairingly;  "for  I've 
tramped  all  the  day  for  the  last  fortnight,  and  niver  a  job  can  I 
get,  and  that 's  the  last  penny  I  have,  yer  honor,  and  it 's  but  a 
half  one." 

As  he  spoke  he  spread  his  palm  open,  with  an  English  half- 
penny in  it. 

"  Bring  whom  over?  "  asked  Mr.  Bawne,  arrested  by  the  odd 
speech,  as  he  turned  upon  his  heel  and  turned  back  again. 

"  Jist  Nora  and  Jamesy." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  The  wan  's  me  wife,  the  other  me  child,"  said  the  man.  "  O 
masther,  just  thry  me.  How  '11  I  bring  'em  over  to  me,  if  no  one 
will  give  me  a  job?  I  want  to  be  aiming,  and  the  whole  big  city 
seems  against  it,  and  me  with  arms  like  them." 

He  bared  his  arms  to  the  shoulder  as  he  spoke,  and  Mr.  Prtvne 
looked  at  them,  and  then  at  his  face. 


PATHOS  235 

'*  I  '11  hire  you  for  a  week,"  he  said;  ''  and  now,  as  it 's  noon, 

go  down  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  the  girl  to  get  you  some  dinner 

a  hungry  man  can't  work." 

With  an  Irish  blessing,  the  new  hand  obeyed,  while  Mr. 
Bawne,  untying  his  apron,  went  upstairs  to  his  own  meal.  Suspi- 
cious as  he  was  of  the  new  hand's  integrity  and  ability,  he  was 
agreeably  disappointed.  Connor  worked  hard,  and  actually 
learned  fast.  At  the  end  of  the  week  he  was  engaged  permanently, 
and  soon  was  the  best  workman  in  the  shop. 

He  was  a  great  talker,  but  not  fond  of  drink  or  wasting  money. 
As  his  wages  grew,  he  hoarded  every  penny,  and  wore  the  same 
shabby  clothes  in  which  he  had  made  his  first  appearance. 

"  Beer  costs  money,"  he  said  one  day,  "  and  ivery  cint  I  spind 
puts  off  the  bringing  Nora  and  Jamesy  over;  and  as  for  clothes, 
them  I  have  must  do  me.  Better  no  coat  to  my  back  than  no 
wife  and  boy  by  my  fireside ;  and  anyhow,  it 's  slow  work  sav- 
ing. 

It  was  slow  work,  but  he  kept  at  it  all  the  same.  Othdr  men, 
thoughtless  and  full  of  fun,  tried  to  make  him  drink;  made  a  jest 
of  his  saving  habits,  coaxed  him  to  accompany  them  to  places  of 
amusement,  or  to  share  in  their  Sunday  frolics. 

All  in  vain.  Connor  liked  beer,  liked  fun,  liked  companion- 
ship; but  he  would  not  delay  that  long-looked-for  bringing  of 
Nora  over,  and  was  not  "  mane  enough  "  to  accept  favor  of  others. 
He  kept  his  way,  a  martyr  to  his  one  great  wish,  living  on  little, 
working  at  night  on  any  extra  job  that  he  could  earn  a  few  shil- 
lings by,  running  errands  in  his  noontide  hours  of  rest,  and  talking 
to  any  one  who  would  listen  to  him  of  his  one  great  hope,  and  of 
Nora  and  of  little  Jamesy. 

At  first,  the  men  who  prided  themselves  on  being  all  Ameri- 
cans, and  on  turning  out  the  best  work  in  the  city,  made  a  sort  of 
butt  of  Connor,  whose  "  wild  Irish  "  ways  and  verdancy  were  in- 
deed often  laughable.  But  he  won  their  hearts  at  last ;  and  when, 
one  day,  mounting  a  work-bench,  he  shook  his  little  bundle, 
wrapped  in  a  red  kerchief,  before  their  eyes,  and  shouted,  ''  Look, 
boys;  I  Ve  got  the  whole  at  last!  I  'm  going  to  bring  Nora  and 
Jamesy  over  at  last!  Whorooo!!  I  Ve  got  it!!!  "  all  felt  sym- 
pathy in  his  joy,  and  each  grasped  his  great  hand  in  cordial  con- 
gratulations, and  one  proposed  to  treat  all  around,  and  drink  a 
good  voyage  to  Nora. 


236  CHOICE  READINGS 

They  parted  in  a  merry  mood,  most  of  the  men  going  to  com- 
fortable homes.  But  poor  Connor's  resting-place  was  a  pooi 
lodging-house,  where  he  shared  a  crazy  garret  with  four  other 
men;  and  in  the  joy  of  his  heart,  the  poor  fellow  exhibited  his 
handkerchief,  with  his  hard-earned  savings  tied  up  in  a  wad  in  the 
middle,  before  he  put  it  under  his  pillow  and  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awakened  in  the  morning,  he  found  his  treasure  gone ; 
some  villain,  more  contemptible  than  most  bad  men,  had  robbed 
him. 

'  At  first  Connor  could  not  even  believe  it  lost.  He  searched 
every  corner  of  the  room,  shook  his  quilt  and  blankets,  and  begged 
those  about  him  '*  to  quit  joking,  and  give  it  back." 

But  at  last  he  realized  the  truth  — 

"  Is  any  man  that  bad  that  it's  thaved  from  me?"  he  asked, 
in  a  breathless  way.  *^  Boys,  is  any  man  that  bad?"  And  some 
one  answered:  "  No  doubt  of  it,  Connor,  it's  sthole." 

Then  Connor  put  his  head  down  on  his  hands  and  lifted  up 
his  voice  and  wept.  It  was  one  of  those  sights  which  men  never 
forget.  It  seemed  more  than  he  could  bear,  to  have  Nora  and  his 
child  "  put,"  as  he  expressed  it,  "  months  away  from  him  again." 

But  when  he  went  to  work  that  day,  it  seemed  to  all  who  saw 
him  that  he  had  picked  up  a  new  determination.     His  hands  were 
never  idle.     His  face  seemed  to  say,  "  I  '11  have  Nora  with  mi 
yet." 

At  noon  he  scratched  out  a  letter,  blotted  and  very  strange! 
scrawled,  telling  Nora  what  had  happened;  and  those  who  ob- 
served him  noticed  that  he  had  no  meat  with  his  dinner.  Indeed, 
from  that  moment  he  lived  on  bread,  potatoes,  and  cold  water, 
and  worked  as  few  men  ever  worked  before.  It  grew  to  be  the 
talk  of  the  shop,  and,  now  that  sympathy  was  excited,  every  one 
wanted  to  help  Connor.  Jobs  were  thrown  in  his  way,  kind 
words  and  friendly  wishes  helped  him  mightily;  but  no  power 
could  make  him  share  the  food  or  drink  of  any  other  workman. 
It  seemed  a  sort  of  charity  to  him. 

Still,  he  was  helped  along.  A  present  from  Mr.  Bawne  at 
pay-day,  set  Nora,  as  he  said,  "a  week  nearer,"  and  this  and  that 
and  the  other  added  to  the  little  hoard.  It  grew  faster  than  the 
first,  and  Connor's  burden  was  not  so  heavy.  At  last,  before  he 
hoped  it,  he  was  once  more  able  to  say,  "  I  'm  going  to  bring  them 
over,"  and  to  show  his  handkerchief,  in  which,  as  before,  he  tied 


e 

t 


PATHOS  237 

up  his  earnings;  this  time,  however,  only  to  his  friends.  Cautious 
among  strangers,  he  hid  the  treasure,  and  kept  his  vest  buttoned 
over  it  night  and  day  until  the  tickets  were  bought  and  sent.  Then 
every  man,  woman  and  child,  capable  of  hearing  or  understanding, 
knew  that  Nora  and  her  baby  were  coming;  and  so  the  days  flew 
by,  and  brought  at  last  a  letter  from  his  wife. 

"  She  would  start  as  he  desired,  and  she  was  well  and  so  was 
the  boy,  and  might  the  Lord  bring  them  safely  to  each  other's  arms, 
and  bless  them  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him."  That  was  the  sub- 
stance of  the  epistle  which  Connor  proudly  assured  his  fellow- 
workmen  Nora  wrote  herself.  She  had  lived  at  service  as  a  girl, 
with  a  certain  good  old  lady,  who  had  given  her  the  items  of  an 
education,  which  Connor  told  upon  his  fingers.  ''  The  radin', 
that 's  one,  and  the  writing  that 's  three,  and,  moreover,  she 
knows  all  that  a  woman  can."  Then  he  looked  up,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  asked, —  "  Do  you  wondher  the  time  seems  long 
between  me  an'  her,  boys  ?  " 

So  it  was.  Nora  at  the  dawn  of  day  —  Nora  at  noon  —  Nora 
at  night  —  until  the  news  came  that  the  Stormy  Petrel  had  come 
to  port,  and  Connor,  breathless  and  pale  with  excitement,  flung  his 
cap  in  the  air  and  shouted. 

It  happened  on  a  holiday  afternoon,  and  half-a-dozen  men 
were  ready  to  go  with  Connor  to  the  steamer  and  give  his  wife  a 
greeting.  Her  little  home  was  ready;  Mr.  Bawne's  own  servant 
had  put  it  in  order,  and  Connor  took  one  peep  at  it  before  he 
started. 

''  She  had  n't  the  like  of  that  in  the  old  counthry,"  he  said, 
"  but  she  '11  know  how  to  keep  them  tidy." 

Then  he  led  the  way  towards  the  dock  where  the  steamer  lay, 
and  at  a  pace  that  made  it  hard  for  the  rest  to  follow  him.  The 
spot  was  reached  at  last ;  a  crowd  of  vehicles  blockaded  the  street ; 
a  troop  of  emigrants  came  thronging  up;  fine  cabin  passengers 
were  stepping  into  cabs,  and  drivers,  porters,  and  all  manner  of 
employees  were  yelling  and  shouting  in  the  usual  manner.  Nora 
would  wait  on  board  for  her  husband,  he  knew  that. 

The  little  group  made  their  way  into  the  vessel  at  last,  and 
there,  amid  those  who  sat  watching  for  coming  friends,  Connor 
searched  for  the  two  so  dear  to  him;  patiently  at  first,  eagerly  but 
patiently,  but  by-and-by  growing  anxious  and  excited. 

"  She  would  never  go  alone,"  he  said;  "  she  'd  be  lost  entirely; 
I  bade  her  wait,  but  I  do  n't  see  her,  boys ;  I  think  she  's  not  in  it.** 


238  CHOICE  READINGS 

"Why  don't  you  see  the  captain?"  asked  one;  and  Connor 
jumped  at  the  suggestion.  In  a  few  minutes  he  stood  before, a 
portly,  rubicund  man,  who  nodded  to  him  kindly. 

"  I  am  looking  for  my  wife,  yer  honor,"  said  Connor,  "  and 
I  can't  find  her." 

"  Perhaps  she  's  gone  ashore,"  said  the  captain. 

"  I  bade  her  wait,"  said  Connor. 

"  Women  do  n't  always  do  as  they  are  bid,  you  know,"  said 
the  captain. 

"  Nora  would,"  said  Connor;  —  "  but  maybe  she  was  left  be- 
hind.    Maybe  she  did  n't  come.     I  sor/iehow  think  she  did  n't." 

At  the  name  of  Nora  the  captain  started.  In  a  moment  he 
asked : 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Pat  Connor,'*  said  the  man. 

"And  your  wife's  name  was  Nora?" 

"  That 's  her  name,  and  the  boy  with  her  is  Jamesy,  yer 
honor,"  said  Connor. 

The  captain  looked  at  Connor's  friends;  they  looked  at  the 
captain.  Then  he  said  huskily:  "Sit  down,  my  man;  I  Ve  got 
something  to  tell  you." 

"  She  's  left  behind,"  said  Connor. 

"  She  sailed  with  us,"  said  the  captain. 

"Where  is  she?"  asked  Connor. 

The  captain  made  no  answer. 

"  My  man,"  he  said,  "  we  all  have  our  trials;  God  sends  them. 
Yes  —  Nora  started  with  us." 

Connor  said  nothing.  He  was  looking  at  the  captain,  now, 
white  to  his  lips. 

"It's  been  a  sickly  season,"  said  the  captain;  "we  have  had 
illness  on  board  —  the  cholera.     You  know  that." 

"  I  did  n't.    I  can't  read ;  they  kept  it  from  me,"  said  Connor. 

"  We  did  n't  want  to  frighten  him,"  said  one,  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  You  know  how  long  we  lay  at  quarantine  ?  " 

"  The  ship  I  came  in  did  that,"  said  Connor.  "  Did  ye  say 
Nora  went  ashore  ?    Ought  I  to  be  looking  for  her,  captain  ?  " 

"  Many  died,  many  children,"  went  on  the  captain.  "  When 
we  were  half  way  here  your  boy  was  taken  sick." 

"  Jamesy,"  gasped  Connor. 

"  His  mother  watched  him  night  and  day,"  said  the  captain, 


PATHOS  239 

*'  and  we  did  all  we  could,  but  at  last  he  died ;  only  one  of  many. 
There  were  five  buried  that  day.  But  it  broke  my  heart  to  see 
the  mother  looking  out  upon  the  water.  **  It 's  his  father  I  think 
of,"  said  she;  "  he  's  longing  to  see  poor  Jamesy." 

Connor  groaned. 

''  Keep  up  if  you  can,  my  man,"  said  the  captain ;  "  I  wish 
any  one  else  had  it  to  tell  rather  than  I.  That  night  Nora  was 
taken  ill,  also,  very  suddenly;  she  grew  worse  fast.  In  the 
morning  she  called  me  to  her.  *  Tell  Connor  I  died  thinking  of 
him,'  she  said,  *  and  tell  him  to  meet  me.'  And  my  man,  God  help 
you,  she  never  said  anything  more  —  in  an  hour  she  was  gone." 

Connor  had  risen.  He  stood  up,  trying  to  steady  himself; 
looking  at  the  captain  with  his  eyes  dry  as  two  stones.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  friends: 

"  I've  got  my  death,  boys,"  he  said,  and  then  dropped  to  the 
deck  like  a  log. 

They  raised  him  and  bore  him  away.  In  an  hour  he  was  at 
home  on  the  little  bed  which  had  been  made  ready  for  Nora, 
weary  with  her  long  voyage.  There  at  last,  he  opened  his  eyes. 
Old  Mr.  Bawne  bent  over  him;  he  had  been  summoned  by  the 
news,  and  the  room  was  full  of  Connor's  fellow  workmen. 

"  Better,  Connor?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  A  dale,"  said  Connor.  "  It 's  aisy  now;  I  '11  be  with  her  soon. 
And  look  ye,  masther,  I  've  learnt  one  thing  —  God  is  good ;  He 
would  n't  let  me  bring  Nora  over  to  me,  but  he  's  takin'  me  over 
to  her  and  Jamesy  over  the  river ;  do  n't  you  see  it,  and  her  stand- 
in'  on  the  other  side  to  welcome  me  ?  " 

And  with  these  words  Connor  stretched  out  his  arms.  Per- 
haps he  did  see  Nora  —  Heaven  only  knows  —  and  so  died. 

—  Anonymous. 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK 

Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

1*he  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 


240  CHOICE  READINGS 

*        O  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play! 
O  well  for  the  sailor-lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill; 
But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still. 

Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

—  Lord  Tennyson, 


THE  EMPTY  NEST 

A  home  in  a  quiet  country  place. 

Under  the  shadow  of  branches  wide; 

And  a  fair  young  mother  with  thoughtful  face. 
Sewing  a  seam  by  the  window  side. 

The  sunshine  stretches  across  the  floor, 
The  bright  motes  dance  in  its  golden  way, 

And  in  and  out,  at  the  open  door, 
The  children  run  in  their  busy  play. 

Guiding  her  needle  with  careless  skill, 
Her  fingers  fashion  the  garment  white; 

But  weaving  a  fabric  daintier  still, 

Her  swift  thoughts  follow  the  needle's  flight. 

Her  heart  lies  hushed  in  her  deep  content, 
Her  lips  are  humming  an  old  love  lay; 

And  still,  with  its  music  softly  blent, 
She  hears  what  the  eager  children  say: 

"  We  found  it  under  the  apple-tree, — 
A  poor  little  empty  yellowbird's  nest; 
Sec,  it  is  round  as  a  cup  could  be. 
And  lined  with  down  from  the  mother's  breast. 


PATHOS  241 

"  This  IS  a  leaf,  all  withered  and  dry, 
That  once  was  a  canopy  overhead; 
Does  n't  it  almost  make  you  cry 
To  look  at  the  dear  little  empty  bed? 

"All  the  birdies  have  flown  away; 

But  birds  must  fly  or  they  would  n't  have  wings; 
And  the  mother  knew  they  would  go  some  day, 
When  she  used  to  cuddle  the  downy  things. 

*'  Do  you  think  she  is  lonesome?    Why,  there  's  a  tear! 
And  here  is  another  —  that  makes  two. 
Why  do  you  hug  us,  and  look  so  queer? 
If  we  were  birdies  we  would  n't  leave  you," 

Deep  in  the  mother's  listening  heart 

Drops  the  prattle  with  sudden  sting; 
For  lips  may  quiver,  and  tears  may  start, 

But  birds  must  fly  or  they  would  nt  have  wings. 

—  Emily  Huntington  Miller. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BABIE  BELL 

Have  you  not  heard  the  poets  tell 

How  came  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours? 
The  gates  of  heaven  wtrt  left  ajar; 
With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes. 
Wandering  out  of  Paradise, 
She  saw  this  planet,  like  a  star, 

Hung  in  the  glistening  depths  of  even, — 
Its  bridges  running  to  and  fro, 
O'er  which  the  white-winged  angels  go, 

Bearing  the  holy  dead  to  heaven. 

She  touched  a  bridge  of  flowers, —  those  feet, 

So  light  they  did  not  bend  the  bells 

Of  the  celestial  asphodels! 

They  fell  like  dew  upon  the  flowers, 

Then  all  the  air  grew  strangely  sweet  — 


2«2  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  thus  came  dkinty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours. 
She  came  and  brought  delicious  May; 
The  swallows  built  beneath  the  eaves; 
Like  sunlight  in  and  out  the  leaves, 
The  robins  went  the  livelong  day; 
The  lily  swung  its  noiseless  bell, 

And  o'er  the  porch  the  trembling  vine 

Seemed  bursting  with  its  veins  of  wine. 
How  sweetly,  softly,  twilight  fell! 
Oh,  earth  was  full  of  smging-birds, 

And  opening  spring-tide  flowers, 
When  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Came  to  this  world  of  ours! 

O  Babie,  dainty  Babie  Bell, 
How  fair  she  grew  from  day  to  day! 
What  woman-nature  filled  her  eyes. 
What  poetry  within  them  lay! 
Those  deep  and  tender  twilight  eyes. 

So  full  of  meaning,   pure  and   bright, 

As  if  she  yet  stood  in  the  light 
Of  those  oped  gates  of  Paradise. 

And  so  we  loved  her  more  and  more; 
Ah,  never  in  our  hearts  before 

Was  love  so  lovely  born: 

We  felt  we  had  a  link  between 
This  real  world  and  that  unseen  — 

The  land  beyond  the  morn. 
And  for  the  love  of  those  dear  eyes. 
For  love  of  her  whom  God  led  forth 
(The  mother's  being  ceased  on  earth 
When  Babie  came  from  Paradise), — 
For  love  of  him  who  smote  our  lives. 

And  woke  the  chords  of  joy  and  pain. 
We  said,  Dear  Christ  —  our  hearts  bent  down, 

Like  violets  after  rain. 

And  now  the  orchards  which  were  white 
And  red  with  blossoms  when  she  came, 


PATHOS  248 

Were  rich  in  autumn's  mellow  prime. 
The  clustered  apples  burnt  like  flame, 
The  soft-cheeked  peaches  blushed  and  fell, 
The  ivory  chestnut  burst  its  shell, 
The  grapes  hung  purpling  in  the  grange; 
And  time  wrought  just  as  rich  a  change 

In  little  Babie  Bell. 
Her  lissome  form  more  perfect  grew, 

And  in  her  features  we  could  trace, 

In  softened  curves,  her  mother's  face! 
Her  angel-nature   ripened   too. 
We  thought  her  lovely  when  she  came, 
But  she  was  holy,  saintly  now :  — 
Around  her  pale  angelic  brow 
We  saw  a  slender  ring  of  flame. 
God's  hand  had  taken  away  the  seal 

That  held  the  portals  of  her  speech; 
And  oft  she  said  a  few  strange  words 

Whose  meaning  lay  beyond  our  reach. 
She  never  was  a  child  to  us, 
We   never  held  her  being's  key, 
We  could  not  teach  her  holy  things; 

She  was  Christ's  self  in  purity. 

It  came  upon  us  by  degrees: 

We  saw  its  shadow  ere  it  fell. 

The  knowledge  that  our  God  had  sent 

His  messenger  for  Babie  Bell; 

We  shuddered  with  unlanguaged  pain, 

And  all  our  hopes  were  changed  to  fears, 

And  all  our  thoughts  ran  into  tears 

Like  sunshine  into  rain. 
We  cried  aloud  in  our  belief: 
"  Oh,  smite  us  gently,  gently,  God ! 
Teach  us  to  bend  and  kiss  the  rod. 
And  perfect  grow  through  grief." 
Ah,  how  we  loved  her,  God  can  tell; 
Her  heart  was  folded  deep  in  ours. 

Our  hearts  are  broken,  BaJ^ie  Bell! 


844  CHOICE  READINGS 

At  last  he  came,  the  messenger, 

The  messenger  from  unseen  lands: 
And  what  did  dainty  Babie  Bell? 
She  only  crossed  her  little  hands, 
She  only  looked  more  meek  and  fair! 
We  parted  back  her  silken  hair, 
We  wove  the  roses  round  her  brow, — 
White  buds,  the  summer  s  drifted  snow, — 
Wrapt  her  from  head  to  foot  in  flowers; 
And  then  went  dainty  Babie  Bell 
Out  of  this  world  of  ours! 


r.  B.  Aldrich. 


EDWARD  GRAY 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland  of  yonder  town 
Met  me  walking  on  yonder  way; 

"And  have  you  lost  your  heart?*'  she  said; 
"And  are  you  married  yet,  Edward  Gray?" 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland  spoke  to  me: 

Bitterly  weeping,  I  turned  away; 
"  Sweet  Emma  Moreland,  love  no  more 

Can  touch  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray. 

"  Ellen  Adair  she  loved  me  well, 

Against  her  father's  and  mother's  will : 

To-day  I  sat  for  an  hour  and  wept. 
By  Ellen's  grave,  on  the  windy  hill. 

"  Shy  she  was,  and  I  thought  her  cold ; 

Thought  her  proud,  and  fled  over  the  sea; 
Filled  I  was  with  folly  and  spite. 

When  Ellen  Adair  was  dying  for  me. 

"  Cruel,  cruel  the  words  I  said! 

Cruelly  came  they  back  to-day: 
*  You  're  too  slight  and  fickle,'  I  said, 

*  To  trouble  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray/ 


PATHOS  245 


"  There  I  put  my  face  in  the  grass  — 
Whispered,  *  Listen  to  my  despair: 

I  repent  me  of  all  I  did; 
Speak  a  little,  Ellen  Adair! ' 


"  Then  I  took  a  pencil  and  wrote 

On  the  mossy  stone,  as  I  lay, 
*  Here  lies  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair; 

And  here  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray! ' 

**  Love  may  come,  and  love  may  go, 
And  fly,  like  a  bird,  from  tree  to  tree; 

But  I  will  love  no  more,  no  more, 
Till  Ellen  Adair  come  back  to  me. 

"  Bitterly  wept  I  over  the  stone : 

Bitterly  weeping,  I  turned  away.; 
There  lies  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair; 

And  there  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray ! " 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


PICTURES  OF  MEMORY 

Among  the  beautiful  pictures 

That  hang  on  Memory's  wall, 
Is  one  of  a  dim  old  forest. 

That  seemeth  best  of  all ; 
Not  for  its  gnarled  oaks  olden, 

Dark  with  the  mistletoe; 
Not  for  the  violets  golden 

That  sprinkle  the  vale  below; 
Not  for  the  milk-white  lilies 

That  lean  from  the  fragrant  ledge, 
Coquetting  all  day  with  the  sunbeams, 

And  stealing  their  golden  edge; 
for  the  vines  on  the  upland. 

Where  the  bright  red  berries  rest. 
Nor  the  pinks,  nor  the  pale  sweet  cowslip, 

It  seemeth  to  me  the  best. 


246  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  once  had  a  little  brother, 

With  eyes  that  were  dark  and  deep ; 
In  the  lap  of  that  old  dim  forest 
He  lieth  in  peace  asleep: 

Light  as  the  down  of  the  thistle, 

Free  as  the  winds  that  blow 
We  roved  there  the  beautiful  summers, 

The  summers  of  long  ago; 
But  his  feet  on  the  hills  grew  weary, 

And,  one  of  the  autumn  eves, 
I  made  for  my  little  brother 

A  bed  of  the  yellow  leaves. 
Sweetly  his  pale  arms  folded 

My  neck  in  a  meek  embrace, 
As  the  light  of  immortal  beauty 

Silently  covered  his  face; 
And  when  the  arrows  of  sunset 

Lodged  in  the  tree-tops  bright, 
He  fell,  in  his  saint-like  beauty, 

Asleep  by  the  gates  of  light. 
Therefore,  of  all  the  pictures 

That  hang  on  Memory's  wall. 
The  one  of  the  dim  old  forest 

Seemeth  the  best  of  all. 


'Alice  Cory. 


THE  BANKS  O'  DOON 


Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair? 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  weary,  fu'  o'  care? 
Thou  It  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird, 

That  wantons  through  the  flowering  thorn; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys. 

Departed  —  never  to  return. 

Aft  hae  I  roved  by  bonnie  Doon, 
To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine; 


PATHOS  24'i 


And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 
And,  fondly,  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pou'd  a  rose, 
Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree; 

And  my  fause  luver  stole  my  rose, 
But  ah !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


—  Robert  Burns. 


"  ROCK  OF  AGES  " 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me," 

Thoughtlessly  the  maiden  sung. 
Fell  the  words  unconsciously 

From  her  girlish,  gleeful  tongue; 
Sung  as  little  children  sing. 

Sung  as  sing  the  birds  in  June; 
Fell  the  words  like  light  leaves  sown 

On  the  current  of  the  tune  — 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

Felt  her  soul  no  need  to  hide  — 

Sweet  the  song  as  song  could  be 
And  she  had  no  thought  beside; 

All  the  words  unheedingly 
Fell  from  lips  untouched  by  care. 

Dreaming  not  that  each  might  be 
On  some  other  lips  a  prayer  — 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  — " 

'Twas  a  woman  sung  them  now. 
Pleadingly  and  prayerfully; 

Every  word  her  heart  did  know; 
Rose  the  song  as  storm-tossed  bird 

Beats  with  w^ary  wing  the  air; 
Every  note  with  sorrow  stirred. 

Every  syllable  a  prayer  — 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 


248  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  — " 

Lips  grown  aged  sung  the  hymn 
Trustingly  and  tenderly, 

Voice  grown  weak  and  eyes  grown  dim  — 
"  Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

Trembling  through  the  voice,  and  low, 
Rose  the  sweet  strain  peacefully 

As  a  river  in  its  flow; 
Sung  as  only  they  can  sing, 

Who  life's  thorny  paths  have  pressed; 
Sung  as  only  they  can  sing 

Who  behold  the  promised  rest. 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me," 

Sung  above  a  coffin-lid; 
Underneath,  all  restfully 

All  life's  cares  and  sorrows  hid. 
Never  more,  O  storm-tossed  soul, 

Never  more  from  wind  or  tide. 
Never  more  from  billow's  roll 

Wilt  thou  need  thyself  to  hide. 
Could  the  sightless,  sunken  eyes. 

Closed  beneath  the  soft  gray  hair, 
Could  the  mute  and  stiffened  lips, 

Move  again  in  pleading  prayer, 
Still,  ay  still  the  words  would  be, 
"  Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 


—  Anonymous* 


THE  VOLUNTEER'S  WIFE 

"  An'  sure  I  was  tould  to  come  to  yer  Honor, 
To  see  if  ye  'd  write  a  few  words  to  me  Pat. 

He  's  gone  for  a  soldier,  is  Misther  O'Connor, 
Wid  a  sthripe  on  his  arm  and  a  band  on  his  hat. 

"An*  what '11  ye  tell  him?     It  ought  to  be  aisy 
For  sich  as  yer  Honor  to  spake  wid  the  pen, — 

Jist  say  I  'm  all  right,  and  that  Mavoorneen  Daisy 
(The  baby,  yer  Honor)  is  betther  again. 


PATHOS 

"  For  when  he  went  off  it 's  so  sick  was  the  childer 

She  niver  held  up  her  blue  eyes  to  his  face  ; 
And  when  I  'd  be  cryin'  he  'd  look  but  the  wilder, 

An'  say,  '  Would  you  wish  for  the  counthry's  disgrace  ? ' 

**  So  he  left  her  in  danger,  and  me  sorely  gratin', 
To  follow  the  flag  wid  an  Irishman's  joy;  — 

O,  it 's  often  I  drame  of  the  big  drums  a  batin', 
An'  a  bullet  gone  straight  to  the  heart  of  me  boy. 

**  An'  say  will  he  send  me  a  bit  of  his  money, 

For  the  rint  an'  the  docther's  bill,  due  in  a  wake;  — 

Well,  surely,  there  's  tears  on  yer  eye-lashes,  honey! 
Ah,  faith,  I  've  no  right  with  such  freedom  to  spake. 

"  You  've  overmuch  trifling,  I  '11  not  give  ye  trouble, 
I  '11  find  some  one  willin' — O,  what  can  it  be? 

What's  that  in  the  newspaper  folded  up  double? 
Yer  Honor,  do  n't  hide  it,  but  rade  it  to  me. 

"What,  Patrick  O'Connor!    No,  no,  'tis  some  other! 

Dead !  dead  1  no,  not  him !  'Tis  a  wake  scarce  gone  by. 
Dead  1  dead !  why,  the  kiss  on  the  cheek  of  his  mother, 

It  has  n't  had  time  yet,  yer  Honor,  to  dry. 

"  Do  n't  tell  me !    It 's  not  him !    O  God,  am  I  crazy? 

Shot  dead!     O  for  love  of  sweet  Heaven,  say  no. 
O,  what  '11  I  do  in  the  world  wid  poor  Daisy! 

O,  how  will  I  live,  an'  O,  where  will  I  go! 

."  The  room  is  so  dark,  I  'm  not  seein'  yer  Honor, 
I  think  I  '11  go  home  — "    And  a  sob,  thick  and  dry, 

Came  sharp  from  the  bosom  of  Mary  O'Connor, 
But  never  a  tear-drop  welled  up  to  her  eye. 

—  M.  A.  Dennison, 


249 


OUR  FOLKS 


"  HI!  Harry  Holly!  Halt!  —  and  tell 
A  fellow  just  a  thing  or  two; 

You  've  had  a  furlough,  been  to  see 
How  all  the  folks  in  Jersey  do. 


250  CHOICE  READINGS 

It 's  months  ago  since  I  was  there, — 

I,  and  a  bullet  from  Fair  Oaks; 
When  you  were  home,— -old  comrade,  say, 

Did  you  see  any  of  our  folks? 
"  You  did?    Shake  hands,—  O,  ain't  I  glad; 

For  if  I  do  look  grim  and  rough, 
I  Ve  got  some  feelin' — 

People  think 

A  soldier's  heart  is  mighty  tough; 
But,  Harry,  when  the  bullets  fly, 

And  hot  saltpeter  flames  and  smokes. 
While  whole  battalions  lie  afield, 

One  's  apt  to  think  about  his  folks. 

**  And  so  you  saw  them  —  when  ?  and  where  ? 

The  old  man  —  is  he  hearty  yet  ? 
And  mother  —  does  she  fade  at  all  ? 

Or  does  she  seem  to  pine  and  fret 
For  me?    And  Sis?  —  has  she  grown  tall? 

And  did  you  see  her  friend  —  you  know 
That  Annie  Moss  — 

(How  this  pipe  chokes!) 
Where  did  you  see  her?  —  tell  me,  Hal, 

A  lot  of  news  about  our  folks. 

"  You  saw  them  in  the  church  —  you  say ; 

It 's  likely,  for  they  're  always  there. 
Not  Sunday?  no?     A  funeral?     Who? 

Who,  Harry?  how  you  shake  and  stare! 
All  well,  you  say,  and  all  were  out; 

What  ails  you,  Hal?     Is  this  a  hoax? 
Why  do  n't  you  tell  me,  like  a  man. 

What  is  the  matter  with  our  folks?" 

"  I  said  all  well,  old  comrade,  true; 

I  say  all  well,  for  He  knows  best 
Who  takes  the  dear  ones  in  His  arms, 

Before  the  sun  goes  to  the  west. 
The  axe-man  Death  deals  right  and  left, 


PATHOS  261 

And  flowers  fall  as  well  as  oaks; 
And  so  — 

Fair  Annie  blooms  no  more ! 
And  that's  the  matter  with  your  folks. 

"  See,  this  long  curl  was  kept  for  you ; 

And  this  white  blossom  from  her  breast; 
And  here  —  your  sister  Bessie  wrote 

A  letter,  telling  all  the  rest. 
Bear  up,  old  friend." 

Nobody  speaks; 
Only  the  old  camp  raven  croaks, 

And  soldiers  whisper: 

"  Boys,  be  still ; 
There  's  some  bad  news  from  Grainger's  folks." 

He  turns  his  back  —  the  only  foe 

That  ever  saw  it  —  on  this  grief, 
And,  as  men  will,  keeps  down  the  tears 

Kind  nature  sends  to  Woe's  relief. 
Then  answers  he: 

"Ah,  Hal,  I'll  try; 

But  in  my  throat  there  's  something  chokes, 
Because,  you  see,  I  've  thought  so  long 

To  count  her  in  among  our  folks. 

"  I  s'pose  she  must  be  happy  now. 

But  still  I  will  keep  thinking  too, 
I  could  have  kept  all  trouble  off. 

By  being  tender,  kind,  and  true. 
But  maybe  not. 

She  's  safe  up  there. 

And  when  the  Hand  deals  other  strokes, 
She  '11  stand  by  Heaven's  gate,  I  know. 

And  wait  to  welcome  in  our  folks." 

—  Mrs,  Ethel  Lynn  Beers. 


252  CHOICE  READINGS 


AULD  ROBIN  GRAY 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at  hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  sleep  are  gane, 
The  waes  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  f rae  my  ee, 
When  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  loo'd  me  weel,  and  socht  me  for  his  bride; 
But,  saving  a  croun,  he  had  naething  else  beside. 
To  mak  that  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed  to  sea; 
And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for  me ! 

He  had  na  been  awa  a  week  but  only  twa, 
When  my  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  the  cow  was  stown  awa; 
My  father  brak  his  arm,  and  young  Jamie  at  the  sea  — 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  cam'  a-courtin'  me. 

My  father  cou'dna  work,  and  my  mother  cou'dna  spin ; 
I  toiled  day  and  nicht ;  but  their  bread  I  cou'dna  win ; 
Auld  Rob  maintained  them  baith,  and,  wi'  tears  in  his  ee, 
Said,  **  Jenny,  for  their  sakes,  oh,  marry  me !  " 

My  heart  it  said  nay,  for  I  looked  for  Jamie  back; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a  wrack; 
The  ship  it  was  a  wrack!    Why  didna  Jamie  dee? 
Or,  why  do  I  live  to  say,  Wae*s  me? 

My  father  argued  sair  —  my  mother  didna  speak. 
But  she  lookit  in  my  face  till  my  heart  was  like  to  break; 
Sae  they  gied  him  my  hand,  though  my  heart  was  in  the  sea; 
An  auld  Robin  Gray  was  gudeman  to  me. 

I  hadna  been  a  wife,  a  week  but  only  four, 
When,  sitting  sae  mournfully  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  cou'dna  think  it  he, 
Till  he  said,  "  I  'm  coming  back  for  to  marry  thee!  " 

Oh  sair,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we  say; 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  we  tore  ourselves  away: 
I  wish  I  were  dead,  but  I  'm  no  like  to  iets^i 
And  why  do  I  live  to  say,  Wae's  me? 


PATHOS  253 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to  spin ; 
I  daurna  think  of  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a  sin  ; 
But  I  '11  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  to  be, 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  is  kind  unto  me. 

—  Lady  A,  Lindsay. 


JOHN  ANDERSON,  MY  JO 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven. 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent; 
But  now  your  brow  is  held,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither; 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 

We  Ve  had  wi'  ane  anither. 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we  '11  go  ; 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


SOLEMNITY 

In  the  expression  of  solemnity  three  things  are  necessary: 

First,  Natural  voice. 

Second,  Effusive  utterance. 

Third,  Low  pitch. 

Here,  as  in  pathetic  reading,  the  natural  voice  and  effusive 
utterance  are  used,  and  the  same  care  should  be  taken  to  secure 
perfect  purity  of  tone  and  a  gentle  continuous  emission  of  sound. 

Low  pitch  can  be  easily  secured  by  striking  the  pitch  of  ordinary 
conversation,  which  is  about  the  middle  line  of  the  voice,  and 
descending  on  the  musical  scale  three  or  four  notes.  The  level 
of  solemn  expression  will  thus  be  reached,  and  with  freedom  from 
harshness  of  tone,  united  with  an  effusive  utterance,  the  conditions 
of  solemn  reading  will  be  fully  met. 

SOLEMN  SELECTIONS 

THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS 

Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 

Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat. 

Across  Its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw, 

And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 

An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  *' 

Half-way  up  the  stairs  it  stands, 

And  points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 

From  its  case  of  massive  oak. 

Like  a  monk,  who,  under  his  cloak, 

Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas! 

With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

254 


SOLEMNITY  255 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light; 

But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 

Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 

It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 

Along  the  ceiling,  aloHg  the  floor, 

And  seems  to  say,  at  each  chamber-door, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  *' 

Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth. 

Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth, 

Through  every  swift  vicissitude 

Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood, 

And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw. 

It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever!  " 

In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  Hospitality; 
His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared; 
The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board; 
But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast, 
That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

There  groups  of  merry  children  played, 

There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed; 

O  precious  hours!     O  golden  prime! 

And  affluence  of  love  and  time! 

Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold. 

Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  told, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white. 
The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night; 
There,  in  that  silent  room  below, 
iTie  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow; 


256  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  in  the  hush  that  followed  the  prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever! " 

All  are  scattered  now  and  fled, 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
"  Ah !  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  ?  " 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by. 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

Never  here,  forever  there. 
Where  all  parting,  pain  and  care, 
And  death  and  time  shall  disappear, — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here! 
The  horologe  of  eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  ** 
—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THANATOPSIS 


To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language :  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 

And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.    When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall. 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house 

Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 

Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 


SOLEMNITY  257 

To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a  still  voice, —  Yet  a  few  days  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements; 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.    The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet,  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone, —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.    Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, —  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.    The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun ;  the  v^les 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 
The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks. 
That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man !    The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven. 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death. 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.    Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  traverse  Barca's  desert  sands. 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 


258  CHOICE  READINGS 

Save  his  own  dashfngs, —  yet  the  dead  are  therel 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep, —  the  dead  reign  there  alone! 
So  shalt  thou  rest;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?    All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.    The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.    As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 
And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  — 
Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

—  William  Cullen  Bryant, 


THE  RAINY  DAY 

The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 


SOLEMNITY  259 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  Past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart!  and  cease  repining; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all. 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY 

[The  women  of  Columbus,  Mississippi,  animated  by  nobler  sentiments 
than  are  many  of  their  sisters,  have  shown  themselves  impartial  in  their 
offerings  made  to  the  memory  of  the  dead.  They  strewed  flowers  alike  on  the 
graves  of  the  Confederate  and  of  the  National  soldiers.] 

By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled. 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver, 
Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead;  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

These  in  the  robings  of  glory. 

Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat, 
All  with  the  battle-blood  gory. 
In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet;  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours 

The  desolate  mourners  go. 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe;  — 


J60  CHOICE  READINGS 

Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 

Under  the  roses,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 

So  with  an  equal  splendor 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall. 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all ;  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 
'Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue; 
Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 

So,  when  the  summer  calleth, 

On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 
The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain;  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue ; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 

Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding. 

The  generous  deed  was  done; 

In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading, 

No  braver  battle  was  won;  — 

*  Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day;  — 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 
Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead! 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 

Waiting  the  judgment  day:  — 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue; 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

—  F.  M.  Finch. 


SOLEMNITY 


261 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 

Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and  sear. 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove  the  withered  leaves  lie  dead; 

They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread. 

The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the  jay. 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately  sprung 

and  stood 
In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas !  they  all  are  in  their  graves ;  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie ;  bu^  the  cold  November  rain 
Calls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago. 

And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer's  glow; 

But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood, 

And  the  yellow  sunflower  by  the  brook  in  autumn  beauty  stood, 

Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the  plague 

on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone  from  upland,  glade, 

and  glen. 

And  now,  when  conies  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will 

come, 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees 

are  still, 
And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill. 
The  south-wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late  he 

bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no  more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died. 
The  fair  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side. 
In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forests  cast  the  leaf, 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief; 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like  that  young  friend  of  ours. 
So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers. 

—  William  Cullen  Bryant. 


202  CHOICE  READINGS 

CARCASSONNE 

How  old  I  am!  I  *m  eighty  year! 

I  Ve  worked  both  hard  and  long; 
Yet,  patient  as  my  life  has  been, 
One  dearest  sight  I  have  not  seen,-— 

It  almost  seems  a  wrong: 
A  dream  I  had  when  life  was  new  — 
Alas,  our  dreams!    They  come  not  true; 
I  thought  to  see  fair  Carcassonne! 
I  have  not  seen  fair  Carcassonne! 

One  sees  it  dimly  from  the  height 

Beyond  the  mountain  blue: 
Fain  would  I  walk  five  weary  leagues  — 
I  do  not  mind  the  road's  fatigues  — 
Through  morn  and  evening  dew; 
But  bitter  frosts  would  fall  at  night, 
And  on  the  grapes  that  yellow  blight; 
I  could  not  go  to  Carcassonne, 
I  never  went  to  Carcassonne. 

Our  Vicar's  right;  he  preaches  loud, 

And  bids  us  to  beware ! 
He  says:  *'  O,  guard  the  weakest  part. 
And  most  the  traitor  in  the  heart, 

Against  ambition's  snare !  " 
Perhaps  in  autumn  I  can  find 
Two  sunny  days  with  gentle  wind; 
I  then  could  go  to  Carcassonne, 
I  still  could  go  to  Carcassonne. 

They  say  it  is  as  gay  all  time, 

As  holidays  at  home; 
The  gentles  ride  in  gay  attire. 
And  in  the  sun  each  gilded  spire 

Shoots  up  like  those  of  Rome! 
The  Bishop  the  procession  leads, 
The  generals  curb  their  prancing  steeds; 
Alas!  I  know  not  Carcassonne! 
Alas!  I  saw  not  Carcassonne! 


SOLEMNITY 

My  God  and  Father !  pardon  me, 

If  this,  my  wish,  offends; 
One  sees  some  hope  more  high  than  he, 
In  age,  as  in  his  infancy. 

To  which  his  heart  ascends. 
My  wife,  my  son  have  seen  Narbonne, 
My  grandson  went  to  Perpignan; 
But  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne, 
I  never  have  seen  Carcassonne. 

Thus  sighed  a  peasant,  bent  with  age, 

Half  dreaming  in  his  chair: 
I  said,  "  My  friend,  come  go  with  me. 
To-morrow,  then,  your  eyes  shall  see 

Those  sights  that  seem  so  fair." 
That  night  there  came  for  passing  soul. 
The  church  bell's  low  and  solemn  toll ! 
He  never  saw  gay  Carcassonne! 
Who  has  not  known  a  Carcassonne? 

—  M.  E.  W.  Sherwood. 


2SW 


FUNERAL  HYMN 

How  still  and  peaceful  is  the  grave, 
Where, —  life's  vain  tumults  past  — 

The  appointed  house,  by  Heaven's  decree, 
Receives  us  all  at  last! 

The  wicked  there  from  troubling  cease, — 

Their  passions  rage  no  more; 
And  there  the  weary  pilgrim  rests 

From  all  the  toils  he  bore. 

All,  leveled  by  the  hands  of  death. 

Lie  sleeping  in  the  tomb, 
Till  God  in  judgment  call  them  forth 

To  meet  their  final  doom. 

—  James  Montgomery, 


264  CHOICE  READINGS 

CROSSING  THE  BAR 

Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me! 

And  may  there  be  no  moaning  at  the  bar, 

When  I  put  out  to  sea. 

But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  and  foam. 

When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 

Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell, 

And  after  that  the  dark! 

And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell, 

When  I  embark; 

For  tho'  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 

I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 

When  I  have  crossed  the  bar. 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE 

The  requirements  are: 

First  —  Natural  voice. 

Second  —  Effusive  utterance. 

Third  —  High  pitch. 

The  pleasant  effect  produced  by  this  combination  was  called 
by  the  ancients,  the  "  Silvery  tone."  The  quietude  and  delicacy 
of  this  class  of  selections  demand  especial  care  in  securing  a  pure, 
musical  and  effusive  quality  of  voice.  The  more  pure,  gentle  and 
continuous  the  tones  can  be  made,  the  more  effective  and  pleasant 
will  be  the  results  of  the  reading. 

To  secure  high  pitch,  let  the  voice  ascend  the  musical  scale 
three  or  four  notes,  beginning  with  the  pitch  of  ordinary  con- 
versation. 

SELECTIONS  OF  SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE 

ENDYMION 

The  rising  moon  has  hid  the  stars; 
Her  level  rays,  like  golden  bars. 

Lie  on  the  landscape  green, 

With  shadows  brown  between. 

And  silver  white  the  river  gleams, 
As  if  Diana,  in  her  dreams. 

Had  dropt  her  silver  bow 

Upon  the  meadows  low. 

On  such  a  tranquil  night  as  this, 
She  woke  Endymion  with  a  kiss, 

When  sleeping  in  the  grove. 

He  dreamed  not  of  her  love. 

Like  Dian's  kiss,  unasked,  unsought, 
Love  gives  itself,  but  is  not  bought; 

Nor  voice,  nor  sound  betrays 

Its  deep,  impassioned  gaze. 
265 


266  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  comes, —  the  beautiful,  the  free, 
The  crown  of  all  humanity, — 
In  silence  and  alone 

To  seek  the  elected  one. 

i 

It  lifts  the  boughs,  whose  shadows  deep, 
Are  Life's  oblivion,  the  soul's  sleep, 

And  kisses  the  closed  eyes 

Of  him,  who  slumbering  lies. 

O  weary  hearts!    O  slumbering  eyes! 
O  drooping  souls,  whose  destinies 

Are  fraught  with  fear  and  pain, 

Ye  shall  be  loved  again! 

No  one  is  so  accursed  by  fate. 
No  one  so  utterly  desolate, 

But  some  heart,  though  unknown. 

Responds  unto  his  own. 

Responds, —  as  if  with  unseen  wings, 
An  angel  touched  its  quivering  strings; 
And  whispers,  in  its  song, 
"  Where  hast  thou  stayed  so  long!  " 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow* 


THE  BELLS  OF  SHANDON 

With  deep  affection 
And  recollection 
I  often  think  of 

Those  Shandon  bells. 
Whose  sounds  so  wild  would. 
In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fling  round  my  cradle 

Their  magic  spells. 

On  this  I  ponder 
Where'er  I  wander. 
And  thus  grow  fonder, 
Sweet  Cork,  of  thee, — 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE 

With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 
Of  the  river  Lee. 

I  Ve  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in, 
Tolling  sublime  in 

Cathedral  shrine, 
While  at  a  glibe  rate 
Brass  tongues  would  vibrate; 
But  all  their  music 

Spoke  naught  like  thine. 

For  memory,  dwelling 
On  each  proud  swelling 
Of  thy  belfry,  knelling 

Its  bold  notes  free, 
Made  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

I  Ve  heard  bells  tolling 
Old  Adrian's  Mole  in, 
Their  thunder  rolling 

From  the  Vatican, — 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 
In  the  gorgeous  turrets 

Of  Notre  Dame! 

But  thy  sounds  were  sweeter 
Than  the  dome  of  Peter 
Flings  o'er  the  Tiber, 

Pealing  solemnly. 
Oh !  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 


267 


268  CHOICE  READINGS 

There  's  a  bell  in  Moscow  ; 
While  on  tower  and  kiosk  O 
In  St.  Sophia 

The  Turkman  gets, 
And  loud  in  air 
Calls  men  to  prayer, 
From  the  tapering  summit 

Of  tall  minarets. 

Such  empty  phantom 
I  freely  grant  them; 
But  there  's  an  anthem 

More  dear  to  me  — 
'Tis  the  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

—  Francis  Mahony, 


MARY  DONNELLY 

O  lovely  Mary  Donnelly,  it 's  you  I  love  the  best ! 
If  fifty  girls  were  around  you,  I  *d  hardly  see  the  rest; 
Be  what  it  may  the  time  of  day,  the  place  be  where  it  will. 
Sweet  looks  of  Mary  Donnelly,  they  bloom  before  me  still. 

Her  eyes  like  mountain  water  that 's  flowing  on  a  rock, 

How  clear  they  are!  how  dark  they  are!  and  they  give  me  many 

a  shock ; 
Red  rowans  warm  in  sunshine,  and  wetted  with  a  shower. 
Could  ne'er  express  the  charming  lip  that  has  me  in  its  power. 

Her  nose  is  straight  and  handsome,  her  eyebrows  lifted  up. 
Her  chin  is  very  neat  and  pert,  and  smooth  like  a  china  cup; 
Her  hair  's  the  brag  of  Ireland,  so  weighty  and  so  fine, — 
It 's  rolling  down  upon  her  neck,  and  gathered  in  a  twine. 

The  dance  o*  last  Whit-Monday  night  exceeded  all  before ; 
No  pretty  girl  for  miles  around  was  missing  from  the  floor; 
But  Mary  kept  the  belt  of  love,  and  O,  but  she  was  gay; 
She  danced  a  jig,  she  sung  a  song,  and  took  my  heart  away! 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE 


269 


When  she  stood  up  for  dancing,  her  steps  were  so  complete, 
The  music  nearly  killed  itself,  to  listen  to  her  feet; 
The  fiddler  mourned  his  blindness,  he  heard  her  so  much  praised, 
But  blessed  himself  he  was  n't  deaf  when  once  her  voice  she  raised. 

And  evermore  I  'm  whistling  or  lilting  what  you  sung ; 

Your  smile  is  always  in  my  heart,  your  name  beside  my  tongue. 

But  you  Ve  as  many  sweethearts  as  you  'd  count  on  both  your 

hands, 
And  for  myself,  there  's  not  a  thumb  or  little  finger  stands. 

O,  you  're  the  flower  of  womankind,  in  country  or  in  town ; 

The  higher  I  exalt  you,  the  lower  I  'm  cast  down. 

If  some  great  lord  should  come  this  way  and  see  your  beauty 

bright. 
And  you  to  be  his  lady,  I  *d  own  it  was  but  right. 

O,  might  we  live  together  in  lofty  palace  hall. 
Where  joyful  music  rises,  and  where  scarlet  curtains  fall; 
O,  might  we  live  together  in  a  cottage  mean  and  small, 
With  sods  of  grass  the  only  roof,  and  mud  the  only  wall! 

O  lovely  Mary  Donnelly,  your  beauty  *s  my  distress ; 
It 's  far  too  beauteous  to  be  mine,  but  1 11  never  wish  it  less ; 
The  proudest  place  would  fit  your  face,  and  I  am  poor  and  low, 
But  blessings  be  about  you,  dear,  wherever  you  may  go ! 

—  William  AlUngham. 


EVANGELINE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE 

Beautiful  was  the  night.    Behind  the  black  wall  of  the  forest. 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon.     On  the  river 
Fell  here  and  there  through  the  branches  a  tremulous  gleam  of 

the  moonlight. 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened  and  devious  spirit. 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers  of  the  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  their  prayers  and  con- 
fessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a  silent  Carthusian. 
Fuller  of  fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with  shadows  and 
night-dews. 


270  CHOICE  READINGS 

Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.    The  calm  and  the  magical  moon- 
light 
Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul^  with  indefinable  longings, 
As,  through  the  garden  gate,  and  beneath  the  shade  of  the  oak- 
trees, 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the  measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and  fire-flies 
Gleaming  and  floating  away  in  mingled  and  infinite  numbers. 
Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God  in  the  heavens, 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to  marvel  and  worship, 
Save  when  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls  of  that  temple, 
As  if  a  hand  had  appeared  and  written  upon  them  "Upharsin.'' 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars  and  the  fire-flies, 
Wandered  alone,  and  she  cried,  ''  O  Gabriel!  O,  my  beloved! 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  behold  thee? 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voice  does  not  reach  me? 
Ah !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to  the  prairie ! 
Ah!  how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the  woodlands  around 

me! 
Ah!  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returning  from  labor, 
Thou  hast  lain  down  to  rest,  and  to  dream  of  me  in  thy  slumbers. 
When  shall  these  eyes  behold,  these  arms  be  folded  about  thee?" 
Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whip-poor-will  sounded, 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods;  and  anon,  through  the  neighboring 

thickets. 
Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  dropped  into  silence. 
"  Patience !  "  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular  caverns  of  dark- 
ness; 
And,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh'  responded,  "  To-morrow!  ** 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


MANDALAY 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the  sea. 
There  's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  an'  I  know  she  thinks  o'  me; 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  an'  the  temple-bells  they  say: 
^^  Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier;  come  yoii  beck  to  Manda* 
lay!" 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lav; 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  271 

Otn't  you  *ear  their  paddles  chunking  from  Rangoon  to  Man- 
dalay? 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An*  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crest  the  Bayl 

*Er  petticut  was  yaller  an'  'er  little  cap  was  green, 

An'   'er   name  was  Supi-yaw-lat  —  jes'   the  same  as  Thcebaw's 

Queen, 
An'  I  seed  her  fust  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin'  white  cheroot, 
An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  idol's  foot: 
Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud  — 
Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd  — 
Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I  kissed  'er  where  she  stud! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay  — 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice  fields  an'  the  sun  was  droppin 

slow, 
She  'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she  'd  sing  "  Kullalo-lor* 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'  her  cheek  agin  my  cheek 
We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis  pilin'  teak. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 
Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid  to  speak! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  — 

But  that 's  all  shove  behind  me  —  long  ago  an'  fur  away, 
An'  there  ain't  no  'buses  runnin'  from  the  Benk  to  Mandalay; 
An'  I  'm  learnin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten-year  sodger  tells: 
"  If  you  've  'card  the  East  a-callin',  why,  you  won't  'eed  nothin' 
else." 

No!  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells 
An'  the  sunshine  an'  the  palm-trees  an'  the  tinkly  temple-bells! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  — 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gritty  pavin'-stones, 
An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the  fever  in  my  bones; 


272  CHOICE  READINGS 

Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty  *ousemaids  outer  Chelsea  to  the  Strand, 
An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  lovin',  but  wot  do  they  understand? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and  — 

Law!  wot  do  they  understand? 
I  Ve  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner,  greener,  land ! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  — 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez  where  the  best  is  like  the  worst, 
Where  there  are  n't  no  Ten  Commandments,  an'  a  man  can  raise 

a  thirst; 
For  the  temple-bells  are  call  in',  an'  it 's  there  that  I  would  be  — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  lazy  at  the  sea  — 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay. 
With  our  sick  beneath  the  awnings  when  we  went  to  Mandalay ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crost  the  Bay! 

—  Rudyard  Kipling. 


BRUSHWOOD 


On  a  weary  slope  of  Apennine, 

At  sober  dusk  of  day's  decline. 

Out  of  the  solemn  solitude 

Of  Vallombrosa's  antique  wood, 

A  withered  woman,  tanned  and  bent. 

Bearing  her  bundled  brushwood  went, 

Poising  it  on  her  palsied  head. 

As  if  in  penance  for  prayers  unsaid. 

Her  dull  cheeks  channeled  were  with  tears, 
Shed  in  the  storms  of  eighty  years ; 
Her  wild  hair  fell  in  gusty  flow. 
White  as  the  foamy  brook  below: 
Still  toiled  she  with  her  load  alone, 
With  feeble  feet,  but  steadfast  will, 
To  gain  her  little  home,  that  shone 
Like  a  dreary  lantern  on  the  hill. 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  278 

How  far.  how  very  far  it  seemed, 
To  where  that  starry  taper  gleamed, 
Placed  by  her  grandchild  on  the  sill 
Of  the  cottage  window  on  the  hill! 
Many  a  parent  heart  before, 
Laden  till  it  could  bear  no  more, 
Has  seen  a  heavenward  light  that  smiled, 
And  knew  it  placed  there  by  a  child ;  — 
A  long-gone  child,  whose  anxious  face 
Gazed  toward  them  down  the  deeps  of  space, 
Longing  for  the  loved  to  come 
To  the  quiet  of  that  home. 

Steeper  and  rougher  grew  the  road. 
Harder  and  heavier  grew  the  load  ; 
Her  heart  beat  like  a  weight  of  stone 
Against  her  breast.    A  sigh  and  moan 
Mingled  with  prayer  escaped  her  lips 
Of  sorrow,  o'er  sorrowing  night's  eclipse. 
"  Of  all  who  pass  me  by,"  she  said, 
"  There  is  never  one  to  lend  me  aid  ; 
Could  I  but  gain  yon  wayside  shrine, 
There  would  I  rest  this  load  of  mine. 
And  tell  my  sacred  rosary  through. 
And  try  what  patient  prayer  would  do." 

Again  she  heard  the  toiling  tread 
Of  one  who  climbed  that  way, —  and  said 
'*  I  will  be  bold,  though  I  should  see 
A  monk  or  priest,  or  it  should  be 
The  awful  abbot,  at  whose  nod 
The  frighted  people  toil  and  plod: 
I  '11  ask  his  aid  to  yonder  place. 
Where  I  may  breathe  a  little  space, 
And  so  regain  my  home."  He  came, 
And  halting  by  the  ancient  dame, 
Heard  her  brief  story  and  request, 
Which  moved  the  pity  in  his  breast; 
And  so  he  straightway  took  her  load, 
Toiling  beside  her  up  the  road, 
Until,  with  heart  that  overflowed, 


274  CHOICE  READINGS 

,  She  begged  him  lay  her  bundled  sticks 

Close  at  the  feet  of  the  crucifix. 

So  down  he  set  her  brushwood  freight 
Against  the  wayside  cross,  and  straight 
She  bowed  her  palsied  head  to  greet 
And  kiss  the  sculptured  Saviour's  feet; 
And  then  and  there  she  told  her  grief, 
In  broken  sentences  and  brief. 
And  now  the  memory  o'er  her  came 
Of  days  blown  out,  like  a  taper  flame, 
Never  to  be  relighted,  when, 
From  many  a  summer  hill  and  glen. 
She  culled  the  loveliest  blooms  to  shine 
About  the  feet  of  this  same  shrine; 
But  now,  where  once  her  flowers  were  gay, 
Naught  but  the  barren  brushwood  lay! 
She  wept  a  little  at  the  thought. 
And  prayers  and  tears  a  quiet  brought, 
Until  anon,  relieved  of  pain, 
She  rose  to  take  her  load  again. 
But  lo!  the  bundle  of  dead  wood 
Had  burst  to  blossom!  and  now  stood 
Dawning  upon  her  marveling  sight, 
Filling  the  air  with  odorous  light ! 

Then  spake  her  traveler-friend :  **  Dear  Soul, 
Thy  perfect  faith  hath  made  thee  whole! 
I  am  the  Burthen-Bearer, —  I 
Will  never  pass  the  o'erladen  by. 
My  feet  are  on  the  mountain  steep; 
They  wind  through  valleys  dark  and  deep ; 
They  print  the  hot  dust  of  the  plain. 
And  walk  the  billows  of  the  main. 
Wherever  is  a  load  to  bear. 
My  willing  shoulder  still  is  there! 
Thy  toil  is  done !  "    He  took  her  hand, 
And  led  her  through  a  May-time  land; 
Where  round  her  pathway  seemed  to  wave 
Each  votive  flower  she  ever  gave 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  27& 

To  make  her  favorite  altar  bright, 
As  if  the  angels,  at  their  blight. 
Had  borne  them  to  the  fields  of  blue, 
Where,  planted  *mid  eternal  dew, 
They  bloom,  as  witnesses  arrayed 
Of  one  on  earth  who  toiled  and  prayed. 

—  Thomas  Buchanan  Read, 


A  PETITION  TO  TIME 

Touch  us  gently.  Time! 

Let  us  glide  adown  thy  stream 
Gently, —  as  we  sometimes  glide 

Through  a  quiet  dream! 
Humble  voyagers  are  we. 

Husband,  wife,  and  children  three  — 
(One  is  lost, —  an  angel  fled 

To  the  azure  overhead!) 

Touch  us  gently,  Time! 

We  Ve  not  proud  nor  soaring  wings: 
Our  ambition,  our  content, 

Lies  in  simple  things. 
Humble  voyagers  are  we, 

O'er  Life's  dim  unsounded  sea. 
Seeking  only  some  calm  clime ; 

Touch  us  gently,  gentle  Time! 

—  Bryan  Waller  Procter. 


ANNABEL  LEE 


It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  lived,  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee; 
And  this  maiden,  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love,  and  be  loved  by  me. 


276  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea  ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee, 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came, 

And  bore  her  away  from  me. 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulcher, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me. 
Yes!  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know) 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night. 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee.  ^ 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we. 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 

For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee, 
And  the  stars  never  rise  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  life,  and  my  bride. 

In  her  sepulcher  there  by  the  sea, 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 

—  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  277 

SANDALPHON 
Have  you  read  in  the  Talmud  of  old, 
In  the  Legends  the  Rabbins  have  told 

Of  the  limitless  realms  of  the  air, 
Have  you  read  it, —  the  marvelous  story 
Of  Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Glory, 

Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Prayer? 

How,  erect,  at  the  outermost  gates 
Of  the  City  Celestial  he  w^aits. 

With  his  feet  on  the  ladder  of  light. 
That,  crowded  with  angels  unnumbered. 
By  Jacob  was  seen,  as  he  slumbered 

Alone  in  the  desert  at  night? 

The  Angels  of  Wind  and  of  Fire 
Chant  only  one  hymn,  and  expire 

With  the  song's  irresistible  stress; 
Expire  in  their  rapture  and  wonder. 
As  harp-strings  are  broken  asunder 

By  music  they  throb  to  express. 

But  serene  in  the  rapturous  throng. 
Unmoved  by  the  rush  of  the  song, 

With  eyes  unimpassioned  and  slow. 
Among  the  dead  angels,  the  deathless 
Sandalphon  stands,  listening  breathless 

To  sounds  that  ascend  from  below ;  — 

From  the  spirits  on  earth  that  adore. 
From  the  souls  that  entreat  and  implore 

In  the  fervor  and  passion  of  prayer ; 
From  the  hearts  that  are  broken  with  losses. 
And  weary  with  dragging  the  crosses 

Too  heavy  for  mortals  to  bear. 

And  he  gathers  the  prayers  as  he  stands, 
And  they  change  into  flowers  in  his  hands. 

Into  garlands  of  purple  and  red  ; 
And  beneath  the  great  arch  of  the  portal, 
Through  the  streets  of  the  City  Immortal 

Is  wafted  the  fragrance  they  shed. 


278  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  IS  but  a  legend,  I  know, — 
A  fable,  a  phantom,  a  show, 

Of  the  ancient  Rabbinical  lore; 
Yet  the  old  mediaeval  tradition. 
The  beautiful,  strange  superstition. 

But  haunts  me  and  holds  me  the  more. 

iWhen  I  look  from  my  window  at  night, 
And  the  welkin  above  is  all  white. 

All  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars, 
Among  them  majestic  is  standing 
Sandalphon  the  angel,  expanding 

His  pinions  in  nebulous  bars. 

And  the  legend,  I  feel,  is  a  part 

Of  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart, 

The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain. 
That  grasps  at  the  fruitage  forbidden, 
The  golden  pomegranates  of  Eden, 

To  quiet  its  fever  and  pain. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


WHEN  THE  KYE  COME  HAME 

Come,  all  ye  jolly  shepherds. 

That  whistle  through  the  glen! 
I  '11  tell  ye  o'  a  secret 

That  courtiers  dinna  ken: 
What  is  the  greatest  bliss 

That  the  tongue  o'  man  can  name? 
TT  is  to  woo  a  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 
When  the  kye  come  hame, — 
'Tween  the  gloomin   an    the  mirk. 
When  the  kye  come  hame. 

*T  IS  not  beneath  the  burgonet, 
Nor  yet  beneath  the  crown; 

'T  is  not  on  couch  o'  velvet, 
Nor  yet  in  bed  o'  down : 


SERENITY,  BEAUTY,  LOVE  279 

'Tis  beneath  the  spreading  birk, 

In  the  glen  without  the  name, 
WV  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lassie, 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 

There  the  blackbird  bigs  his  nest, 

For  the  mate  he  lo'es  to  see. 
And  on  the  tapmost  bough 

O,  a  happy  bird  is  he! 
There  he  pours  his  melting  ditty, 

And  love  is  a'  the  theme; 
And  he  11  woo  his  bonnie  lassie. 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 

When  the  blewart  bears  a  pearl, 

And  the  daisy  turns  a  pea, 
And  the  bonnie  lucken  gowan 

Has  fauldit  up  his  ee, 
Then  the  lavrock,  frae  the  blue  lift, 

Draps   down  and   thinks  nae  shame 
To  woo  his  bonnie  lassie. 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 

See  yonder  pawky  shepherd. 

That  lingers  on  the  hill; 
His  yowes  are  in  the  fauld, 

And  his  lambs  are  lying  still; 

Yet  he  dinna  gang  to  bed, 

For  his  heart  is  in  a  flame, 
To  meet  his  bonnie  lassie 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 

When  the  little  wee  bit  heart 

Rises  high  in  the  breast, 
And  the  little  wee  bit  starn 

Rises  red  in  the  east, 
O,  there  's  a  joy  sae  dear 

That  the  heart  can  hardly  frame! 
Wi'  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lassie, 

When  the  kye  come  hame. 


280  CHOICE  READINGS 

Then  since  all  Nature  joins 

In  this  love  without  alloy, 
O,  wha  wad  prove  a  traitor 

To  Nature's  dearest  joy? 
Or  wha  wad  choose  a  crown, 

WV  its  perils  an'  its  fame, 
And  miss  his  bonnie  lassie. 

When  the  kye  come  hame? 


—  James  Hogg. 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL 
STYLES 

OROTUND  VOICE 

The  Orotund  voice,  or  the  voice  that  is  used  in  the  expres- 
sion of  impassioned  selections,  needs  now  to  be  specially  consid- 
ered, as  we  are  about  to  treat  of  various  classes  of  composition 
that  depend  upon  that  voice  for  their  appropriate  interpretation. 

What  is  the  Orotund  voice,  and  wherein  does  it  differ  from 
the  natural  or  conversational  voice?  These  questions  are  per- 
tinent to  the  present  discussion. 

The  Natural  and  Orotund  voices  are  manufactured  in  the 
same  way,  and  differ  only  in  their  intensity  and  volume  of  sound. 
If  a  drum-head  be  tapped  by  the  finger,  a  feeble  report  is  heard; 
but  if  you  beat  the  drum  with  great  force,  a  very  much  louder 
report  follows  each  blow,  and  a  consequent  resonance  is  heard 
inside  as  the  sound  passes  from  one  head  of  the  drum  to  the  other. 
So  with  these  voices.  In  the  case  of  the  Natural  voice,  the  sound 
made  in  the  glottis,  as  we  talk,  is  not  sufficiently  loud  to  produce 
any  resonance,  except  a  slight  one  in  the  head;  but  when  by  the 
action  of  the  abdominal  muscles,  the  air  in  the  lungs  is  thrown 
into  the  glottis  with  great  force,  a  loud  explosion  of  sound  is  heard, 
and  a  consequent  resonance  takes  place  in  the  cavities  of  the  body, 
especially  in  the  chest;  hence  the  term,  chest  tone. 

The  most  direct  answer  that  we  can  make  to  the  inquiry,  what 
is  the  Orotund  voice  and  wherein  does  it  differ  from  the  Natural 
voice,  is  this:  The  Orotund  voice  is  that  full,  deep  and  resonant 
sound  heard  in  all  impassioned  sublimity,  oratory  and  fierce  emo- 
tion, and  it  differs  specifically  from  the  Natural  voice  in  that  its 
depth,  fullness  and  roundness  arise  chiefly  from  resonance  in  the 
cavities  of  the  body. 

The  use  of  the  Orotund  voice  in  impassioned  styles  is  so  com- 
mon a  thing  in  ordinary  life  that  the  mention  of  a  single  example 
may  serve  to  dissipate  the  absurd  notion  that  elocutionary  rules  are 

281 


282  CHOICE  READINGS 

arbitrary  and  conventional.  For  example,  when  the  boy  loses  a 
finger  he  does  not  talk,  he  roars ;  he  has  so  much  feeling  to  get  rid 
of  that  he  cannot  find  vent  in  the  Natural  voice,  and  is  forced  by 
an  irresistible  impulse  to  use  a  larger  voice  in  order  that  he  may 
find  relief.  You  can  read  an  essay,  but  you  must  speak  an  oration. 
The  emotion  that  fills  the  orator's  soul  as  he  denounces  an  enemy, 
or  excites  his  countrymen  to  heroic  deeds,  must  find  an  outlet  in 
the  full,  strong  and  ample  tones  of  the  Orotund. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  Orotund  voice.  Effusive,  Expulsive 
and  Explosive,  each  of  which  will  receive  a  separate  consideration. 

EFFUSIVE  OROTUND 

This  kind  of  Orotund  is  used  in  the  rendition  of  all  grand, 
sublime,  and  reverential  styles.  It  is  the  appropriate  voice  of 
prayer,  of  all  the  prayer  services  of  the  church,  of  nearly  all 
hymns  —  since  they  are  but  prayers  in  verse  —  of  the  grand  pas- 
sages of  the  Prophets  and  Psalms,  as  well  as  the  sublime  utter- 
ances of  the  Revelation.  It  is  also  the  appropriate  voice  for  the 
expression  of  all  emotions  that  are  excited  by  the  grandeur,  vast- 
ness,  or  splendor  of  natural  objects.  The  prevailing  pitch  of  voice 
is  low,  and  in  profound  awe,  despair  and  horror,  we  descend  to 
the  lowest  pitch. 

Care  should  be  taken  to  avoid  all  harshness  of  tone,  as  impure 
qualities  of  voice  are  more  readily  detected  in  the  full,  long- 
drawn  notes  of  the  Effusive  Orotund  than  in  any  other  style  of 
reading  or  speaking.  A  deep,  full,  sonorous  quality  of  voice, 
free  from  all  false  intonations,  sudden  transitions,  or  conversa- 
tional inflections,  should  be  cultivated  for  the  proper  expression 
of  this  class  of  selections. 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL 
SELECTIONS 

HYMN  TO  MONT  BLANC 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning-star 
In  his  steep  course?  so  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovereign  Blanc! 
The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly;  but  thou,  most  awful  Form! 
Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 
How  silently!    Around  thee  and  above 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial  black  — 
An  ebon  mass:  methlnks  thou  piercest  it, 
As  with  a  wedge!     But  when  I  look  again, 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity! 

0  dread  and  silent  Mount!     I  gazed  upon  thee, 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense. 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought:  entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshiped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody. 
So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 
Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thought  — 
Yea,  with  my  life  and  life's  own  secret  joy: 
Till  the  dilating  Soul,  enrapt,  transfused. 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing,  there, 
As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  Heaven! 

Awake,  my  soul!  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears. 
Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy!     Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song!     Awake,  my  heart,  awake! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  Hymn. 

283 


284  CHOICE  READINGS 

Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  Sovereign  of  the  Vale! 
O,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 
Or  w^hen  they  climb  the  sky  or  w^hen  they  sink : 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald:  wake,  O  wake,  and  utter  praise! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 
Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
Forever  shattered  and  the  same  for  ever? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life. 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 
Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam? 
And  who  commanded  (and  the  silence  came). 
Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest? 

Ye  ice-falls!  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain  — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge! 
Motionless  torrents!  silent  cataracts! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon?    Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  3^ou  with  rainbows?     Who,  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet?  — 
God !  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer!  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God! 
God!  sing,  ye  meadow-streams,  with  gladsome  voice! 
Ye  pine-groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds! 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow. 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  God! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost ! 
Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest! 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain-storm! 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL       285 

Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds! 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements! 
Utter  forth  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise! 

Thou,  too,  hoar  Mount!  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 
Oft  froni  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 
Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene, 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast  — 
Thou,  too,  again,  stupendous  Mountain!  thou 
That  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 
In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 
Slow  traveling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 
Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud. 
To  rise  before  me  —  Rise,  O  ever  rise ! 
Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  from  the  earth! 
Thou  kingly  Spirit  throned  among  the  hills. 
Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven. 
Great  Hierarch!  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 

—  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  MOSES 

"  And  he  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab,  over  against  Beth- 
|>eor :  but  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepulcher  unto  this  day."  —  Deut.  xxxtv,  6. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab, 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave; 
But  no  man  dug  that  sepulcher, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er. 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth  ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  tramping, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth ; 


286  CHOICE  READINGS 

Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  when  the  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun, — 

Noiselessly  as  the  springtime 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves. 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves, — 
So,  without  sound  of  music. 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept, 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain  crown 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle. 

On  gray  Beth-peor's  height. 
Out  of  his  rocky  eyrie, 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight. 
Perchance  the  lion,  stalking. 

Still  shuns  the  hallowed  spot; 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

Lo!  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

His  comrades  in  the  war. 
With  arms  reversed,  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  the  funeral  car. 
They  show  the  banners  taken. 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed. 

While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  die  noblest  of  the  land 

Men  lay  the  sage  to  rest. 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place 

With  costly  marble  dressed. 
la  the  great  minster  transept, 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  sweet  choir  sings,  and  the  organ  rings, 

Along  thw  emblazoned  wall. 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL      287 

This  was  the  bravest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word; 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced,  with  his  golden  pen, 
On  the  deathless  page,  truths  half  so  sage, 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honor. 

The  hillside  for  his  pall; 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall; 
And  the  dark  rock  pines,  like  tossing  plumes. 

Over  his  bier  to  wave; 
And  God's  own  hand,  in  that  lonely  land, 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave?  — 

In  that  deep  grave,  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoffined  clay 
Shall  break  again  —  most  wondrous  thought !  — 

Before  the  judgment  day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapped  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 

O,  lonely  tomb  in  Moab's  land, 

O,  dark  Beth-peor's  hill, 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  Grace  — 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  secret  sleep 

Of  him  he  loved  so  well. 

—  Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


288  CHOICE  READINGS 

APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  OCEAN 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society,  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar. 

I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne^er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain, 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore ;  —  upon  the  watery  plain 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own. 

When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan. 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 

Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals; 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 

Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war, — 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake. 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage, —  what  are  they? 

Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free. 
And  many  a  tyrant  since ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage;  their  decay 

Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts :  —  not  so  thou, 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play  — 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow  — 

Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL      289 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed  —  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 

Dark  heaving;  —  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime  — 
The  image  of  Eternity  —  the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee:  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean!  and  my  joy 

Of  youthful  sports  w^as  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward:  from  a  boy 

I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers  —  they  to  me 

Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror, —  't  was  a  pleasing  fear ; 

For  I  was,  as  it  were,  a  child  of  thee, 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane  —  as  I  do  here. 

—  Lord  Byron, 


THE  LOST  CHORD 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ, 
I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease, 

And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing, 
Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then ; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music, 
Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen. 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight. 

Like  the  close  of  an  Angel's  Psalm, 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow. 
Like  love  overcoming  strife; 

It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 
From  our  discordant  life. 


290  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silence 

As  if  It  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine, 
That  came  from  the  soul  of  the  Organ, 

And  entered  Into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death's  bright  angel 
Will  speak  in  that  chord  again; 

It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven 
I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen. 

—  Adelaide  A.  Pro€^ar» 


HYMN  TO  THE  NIGHT 

I  heard  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 
Sweep  through  her  marble  halls! 

I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 
From  the  celestial  walls! 

I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might, 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  above; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love. 

I  heard  the  sounds  of  sorrow  and  delight, 

The  manifold,  soft  chimes, 
That  fill  the  haunted  chambers  of  the  Night, 

Like  some  old  poet's  rhymes. 

From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air 

My  spirit  drank  repose; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows  there,- 

From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 

O  holy  Night!  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 

What  man  has  borne  before! 
Thou  layest  thy  finger  on  the  lips  of  Care, 

And  they  complain  no  more. 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL      291 

Peace !  Peace !  Orestes-like  I  breathe  this  prayer ! 

Descend  with  broad-winged  flight, 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the  most  fair, 

The  best-beloved  Night! 

—  Henry   Wadsworth  Longfellow* 


THE  BARDS 


When  the  sweet  day  in  silence  hath  departed, 
And  twilight  comes  with  dewy,  downcast  eyes. 

The  glowing  spirits  of  the  mighty-hearted 
like  stars  around  me  rise. 

Spirits  whose  voices  pour  an  endless  measure, 
Exhaustless  as  the  choral  founts  of  night, 

Until  my  trembling  soul,  oppressed  with  pleasure, 
Throbs  in  a  flood  of  light. 

Old  Homer's  song  in  mighty  undulations 

Comes  surging  ceaseless  up  the  oblivious  main :  — 

I  hear  the  rivers  from  succeeding  nations 
Go  answering  down  again. 

Hear  Virgil's  strain  through  pleasant  pastures  strolling, 
And  Tasso's  sweeping  round  through  Palestine 

And  Dante's  deep  and  solemn  river  rolling 
Through  groves  of  midnight  pine. 

I  hear  the  iron  Norseman's  numbers  ringing 
Through  frozen  Norway  like  a  herald's  horn  ; 

And  like  a  lark,  hear  glorious  Chaucer  singing 
Away  in  England's  morn. 

In  Rhenish  halls,  still  hear  the  pilgrim  lover 
Chant  his  wild  story  to  the  walling  strings, 

Till  the  young  maiden's  eyes  are  brimming  over 
Like  the  full  cup  she  brings. 

And  hear  from  Scottish  hills  the  souls  unquiet 

Pouring  in  torrents  their  perpetual  lays. 
As  their  impetuous  mountain  runnels  riot 

In  the  long  rainy  days; 


292  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  world-wide  Shakespeare  —  the  imperial  Spenser: 
Whose  shafts  of  song  o'ertop  the  angels'  seats, — 

While,  delicate  as  from  a  silver  censer, 
Float  the  sweet  dreams  of  Keats! 

Nor  these  alone  —  for  through  the  growing  present, 
Westward  the  starry  path  of  Poesy  lies  — 

Her  glorious  spirit,  like  the  evening  crescent, 
Comes  rounding  up  the  skies. 

—  Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


RECESSIONAL 


God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old  — 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle-line  — 

Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  palm  and  pine  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet. 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget  I 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies  — 
The  captains  and  the  kings  depart  — 

Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget! 

Far-called  our  navies  melt  away  — 
On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire  — 

Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 
Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 

Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget! 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe  - 

Such  boasting  as  the  Gentiles  use, 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget! 


GRAND,  SUBLIME,  AND  REVERENTIAL      293 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard  — 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 
And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard  — 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 

Thy  mercy  on  Thy  people.  Lord! 
Amen, 

—  Rudyard  Kipling. 


ORATORICAL  STYLES 

EXPULSIVE  OROTUND 

This  form  of  the  Orotund  is  used  in  the  expression  of  all  ora- 
torical styles.  The  air  instead  of  flowing  from  the  mouth  in  a  con- 
tinuous stream  as  in  the  Effusive  Orotund,  is  gathered  up  in  a 
tense,  compact  volume  and  thrown  into  the  glottis,  whence  it  issues 
in  the  form  of  a  short  shout. 

The  key  to  the  effective  and  easy  expression  of  all  oratorical 
styles  requires  a  separate  impulsion  of  air  for  each  tone  or  word 
that  is  uttered.  The  tones  of  the  orator  thus  formed  resemble  the 
firm  resonant  strokes  of  a  bell,  or  the  compact  and  solid  blows  of 
a  hammer  on  an  anvil.  Flabbiness  of  tone,  which  destroys  all 
vigor  of  expression,  and  imperfect  vocalization,  producing  huski- 
ness,  would  be  speedily  overcome  if  the  tones  were  made  firm  by 
energetic  expulsion  of  the  air  in  the  pronunciation  of  each  word. 
Daily  practice  on  the  vowels  and  numerals,  securing  a  sturdy  and 
resonant  tone  in  the  enunciation  of  each  word,  is  the  most  direct 
and  simple  way  to  acquire  this  form  of  expression. 

Two  essential  points  of  advantage  are  gained  by  the  adoption 
of  these  suggestions:  First,  economy  of  breath;  second,  distinctness 
of  utterance.  The  tones  being  made  in  such  a  firm  and  compact 
manner,  it  is  apparent  that  the  liability  of  air  escaping  unvocalized 
is  diminished,  and  what  is  used  is  put  in  such  form  as  to  secure 
the  greatest  amount  of  sound  with  the  least  possible  expendi- 
ture of  breath.  In  short,  the  speaker  is  working  at  his  best  with 
the  least  possible  outlay  of  physical  exertion. 

Indistinctness  is  practically  impossible,  as  each  word  is  made 
by  a  separate  impulsion  of  breath,  and  hence  the  speaker  must 
be  distinct  in  his  utterance,  if  he  pronounces  individual  words  dis- 
tinctly. , 


294 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS 
SOUTH   CAROLINA 

If  there  be  one  State  in  the  Union,  Mr.  President, —  and  I 
say  It  not  in  a  boastful  spirit, —  that  may  challenge  comparison 
with  any  other  for  a  uniform,  zealous,  ardent,  uncalculating 
devotion  to  the  Union,  that  State  is  South  Carolina. 

Sir,  from  the  very  commencement  of  the  Revolution,  up  to 
this  hour,  there  is  no  sacrifice,  however  great,  she  has  not  cheer- 
fully made;  no  service  she  has  hesitated  to  perform.  She  has  ad- 
hered to  you  in  your  prosperity;  but  in  your  adversity,  she  has 
clung  to  you  with  more  than  filial  affection. 

No  matter  what  was  the  condition  of  her  domestic  affairs; 
though  deprived  of  her  resources,  divided  by  parties,  or  surrounded 
with  difficulties,  the  call  of  the  country  has  been  to  her  as  the 
voice  of  God.  Domestic  discord  ceased  at  the  sound ;  —  every  man 
became  at  once  reconciled  to  his  brethren ;  and  the  sons  of  Carolina 
were  all  seen  crowding  together  to  the  temple,  bringing  their  gift 
to  the  altar  of  their  common  country. 

What,  sir,  was  the  conduct  of  the  South  during  the  Revolu- 
tion ?  Sir,  I  honor  New  England  for  her  conduct  in  that  glorious 
struggle.  But  great  as  is  the  praise  which  belongs  to  her,  I  think 
at  least  equal  honor  is  due  to  the  South.  They  espoused  the  quar- 
rel of  their  brethren  with  a  generous  zeal,  which  did  not  suffer 
them  to  stop  to  calculate  their  interests  in  the  dispute. 

Favorites  of  the  mother  country,  possessed  of  neither  ships  nor 
seamen  to  create  a  commercial  relationship,  they  might  have 
found  in  their  situation  a  guarantee  that  their  trade  w^jld  be 
forever  fostered  and  protected  by  Great  Britain.  But,  trampling 
on  all  consideration,  either  of  interest  or  of  safety,  they  rushed 
into  the  conflict ;  and  fighting  for  principle,  periled  all  in  the  sacred 
cause  of  freedom. 

Never  were  there  exhibited  in  the  history  of  the  world,  higher 
examples  of  noble  daring,  dreadful  suffering,  and  heroic  endurance 

295 


296  CHOICE  READINGS 

than  by  the  Whigs  of  Carolina  during  the  Revolution.  The  whole 
State,  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea,  was  overrun  by  an  over- 
whelming force  of  the  enemy.  The  fruits  of  industry  perished  on 
the  spot  where  they  were  produced,  or  were  consumed  by  the  foe. 
The  "  plains  of  Carolina  '*  drank  up  the  most  precious  blood  of 
her  citizens.  Black  and  smoking  ruins  marked  the  places  which 
had  been  the  habitations  of  her  children! 

Driven  from  their  homes  into  the  gloomy  and  almost  impen- 
etrable swamps, —  even  there  the  spirit  of  liberty  survived;  and 
South  Carolina,  sustained  by  the  example  of  her  Sumters  and  her 
Marions,  proved  by  her  conduct  that,  though  her  soil  might  be 
overrun,  the  spirit  of  her  people  was  invincible ! 

—  Robert  Young  Hayne. 


NEW  ENGLAND 

The  gentleman  from  South  Carolina  taunts  us  with  counting 
the  costs  of  that  war  in  which  the  liberties  and  honor  of  the 
country,  and  the  interests  of  the  North,  as  he  asserts,  were  forced 
to  go  elsewhere  for  their  defense.  Will  he  sit  down  with  me  and 
count  the  cost  now?  Will  he  reckon  up  how  much  of  treasure 
the  State  of  South  Carolina  expended  in  that  war,  and  how  much 
the  State  of  Massachusetts  ?  — how  much  of  the  blood  of  either 
State  was  poured  out  on  sea  or  land  ?  I  challenge  the  gentleman  to 
the  test  of  patriotism,  which  the  army  rolls,  the  navy  lists,  and  the 
treasury  books  afford. 

Sir,  they  who  revile  us  for  our  opposition  to  the  last  war  have 
looked  only  to  the  surface  of  things.  They  little  know  the  ex- 
tremities of  suffering  which  the  people  of  Massachusetts  bore  at 
that  period,  out  of  attachment  to  the  Union, —  their  families 
beggared,  their  fathers  and  sons  bleeding  in  camps,  or  pining  in 
foreign  prisons.  They  forget  that  not  a  field  was  marshaled  on 
this  side  of  the  mountains  in  which  the  men  of  Massachusetts  did 
not  play  their  part,  as  became  their  sires,  and  their  "  blood  fetched 
from  mettle  of  war  proof."  They  battled  and  bled,  wherever  bat- 
tle was  fought  or  blood  drawn. 

Nor  only  by  land.  I  ask  the  gentleman,  Who  fought  your 
naval  battles  in  the  last  war?  Who  led  you  on  to  victory  after 
victory,  on  the  ocean  and  the  lakes  ?    Whose  was  the  triumphant 


*  ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  297 

prowess  before  which  the  Red  Cross  of  England  paled  with  un- 
wonted shames?  Were  they  not  men  of  New  England?  Were 
these  not  foremost  in  those  maritime  encounters  which  humbled 
the  pride  and  power  of  Great  Britain  ? 

I  appeal  to  my  colleague  before  me  from  our  common  county 
of  brave  old  Essex, —  I  appeal  to  my  respected  colleagues  from  the 
shores  of  the  Old  Colony.  Was  there  a  village  or  a  hamlet  on 
Massachusetts  Bay  which  did  not  gather  its  hardy  seamen  to  man 
the  gun-decks  of  your  ships  of  war?  Did  they  not  rally  to  the 
battle  as  men  flock  to  a  feast? 

In  conclusion,  I  beseech  the  House  to  pardon  me,  if  I  may 
have  kindled,  on  this  subject,  into  something  of  unseemly  ardor.  I 
cannot  sit  tamely  by  in  humble,  acquiescent  silence  when  reflec- 
tions, which  I  know  to  be  unjust,  are  cast  on  the  faith  and  honor 
of  Massachusetts. 

Had  I  suffered  them  to  pass  without  admonition,  I  should  have 
deemed  that  the  disembodied  spirits  of  her  departed  children,  from 
their  ashes  mingled  with  the  dust  of  every  stricken  field  of  the 
Revolution, —  from  their  bones  moldering  to  the  consecrated  earth 
of  Bunker's  Hill,  of  Saratoga,  of  Monmouth,  w^ould  start  up  in 
visible  shape  before  me  to  cry  shame  on  me,  their  recreant  coun- 
tryman. 

Sir,  I  have  roamed  through  the  world  to  find  hearts  nowhere 
warmer  than  hers;  soldiers  nov/here  braver;  patriots  nowhere 
purer;  wives  and  mothers  nowhere  truer;  maidens  nowhere  love- 
lier; green  valleys  and  bright  rivers  nowhere  greener  or  brighter; 
and  I  will  not  be  silent  when  I  hear  her  patriotism  or  her  truth 
questioned  with  so  much  as  a  whisper  of  detraction.  Living,  I 
will  defend  her;  dying,  I  would  pause  in  my  last  expiring  breath 
to  utter  a  prayer  of  fond  remembrance  for  my  native  New  England. 

—  Caleb  Cushing. 


LORD  PLUNKET  ON  THE  IRISH  PARLIAMENT 

Sir  —  I,  in  the  most  express  terms,  deny  the  competency  of 
Parliament  to  abolish  the  Legislature  of  Ireland.  I  warn  you, 
do  not  dare  to  lay  your  hand  on  the  Constitution  —  I  tell  you  that 
if,  circumstanced  as  you  are,  you  pass  an  act  which  surrenders 
the  government  of  Ireland  to  the  English  Parliament,  it  will  be  a 
nullity,  and  that  no  man  in  Ireland  will  be  bound  to  obey  it.    I 


298  CHOICE  READINGS 

make  the  assertion  deliberately  —  I  repeat  it,  and  I  call  on 
any  man  who  hears  me  to  take  down  my  words ;  —  you  have  not 
been  elected  for  this  purpose  —  you  are  appointed  to  make  laws, 
and  not  legislatures  —  you  are  appointed  to  act  under  the  Consti- 
tution, not  to  alter  it  —  you  are  appointed  to  exercise  the  func- 
tions of  legislators,  and  not  to  transfer  them  —  and  if  you  do  so, 
your  act  is  a  dissolution  of  the  government  —  you  resolve  society 
into  its  original  elements,  and  no  man  in  the  land  is  bound  to 
obey  you. 

Sir,  I  state  doctrines  which  are  not  merely  founded  in  the  im- 
mutable laws  of  justice  and  of  truth.  I  state  not  merely  the 
opinions  of  the  ablest  men  who  have  written  on  the  science  of 
government ;  but  I  state  the  practice  of  our  Constitution,  as  settled 
at  the  era  of  the  Revolution,  and  I  state  the  doctrine  under  which 
the  House  of  Hanover  derives  its  title  to  the  throne.  Has  the 
King  a  right  to  transfer  his  crown?  Is  he  competent  to  annex  it 
to  the  crown  of  Spain,  or  of  any  other  country?  No  —  but  he  may 
abdicate  it;  and  every  man  who  knows  the  Constitution  knows  the 
consequence  —  the  right  reverts  to  the  next  in  succession  —  if 
they  all  abdicate,  it  reverts  to  the  people.  The  man  who  ques- 
tions this  doctrine,  in  the  same  breath  must  arraign  the  sovereign 
on  the  throne  as  an  usurper.  Are  you  competent  to  transfer  your 
legislative  rights  to  the  French  council  of  five  hundred?  Are  you 
competent  to  transfer  them  to  the  British  Parliament?  I  answer, 
No.  When  you  transfer  you  abdicate,  and  the  great  original  trust 
reverts  to  the  people  from  whom  it  issued.  Yourselves  you  may 
extinguish,  but  Parliament  you  cannot  extinguish  —  it  is  enthroned 
in  the  hearts  of  the  people  —  it  is  enshrined  in  the  sanctuary  of  the 
Constitution;  it  is  immortal  as  the  island  which  it  protects.  As 
well  might  the  frantic  suicide  hope  that  the  act  which  destroys 
his  miserable  body  should  extinguish  his  eternal  soul.  Again, 
I  therefore  warn  you,  do  not  dare  to  lay  your  hands  on  the  Consti- 
tution; it  is  above  your  power.  Sir,  I  do  not  say  that  the  Parlia- 
ment and  the  people,  by  mutual  consent  and  co-operation,  may  not 
change  the  form  of  the  Constitution.  Whenever  such  a  case  arises, 
It  must  be  decided  on  its  own  merits  —  but  that  is  not  this  case. 
If  government  considers  this  a  season  peculiarly  fitted  for  experi- 
ments on  the  Constitution,  they  may  call  on  the  people.  I  ask 
you,  Are  you  ready  to  do  so  ?  Are  you  ready  to  abide  the  event  of 
such  an  appeal  ?    What  is  it  you  must,  in  that  event,  submit  to  the 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  299 

people?  Not  this  particular  project;  for  if  you  dissolve  the  present 
form  of  government,  they  become  free  to  choose  any  other  —  you 
fling  them  to  the  fury  of  the  tempest ;  you  must  call  on  them  to  un- 
house  themselves  of  the  established  Constitution,  and  to  fashion 
to  themselves  another,  I  ask  again,  Is  this  the  time  for  an  ex- 
periment of  that  nature? 

Thank  God,  the  people  have  manifested  no  such  wish  —  so 
far  as  they  have  spoken,  their  voice  is  decidedly  against  this  daring 
innovation.  You  know  that  no  voice  has  been  uttered  in  its  favor, 
and  you  cannot  be  infatuated  enough  to  take  confidence  from  the 
silence  which  prevails  in  some  parts  of  the  kingdom;  if  you  know 
how  to  appreciate  that  silence,  it  is  more  formidable  than  the  most 
clamorous  opposition  —  you  may  be  rived  and  shivered  by  the 
lightning,  before  you  hear  the  peal  of  the  thunder!  But,  sir,  we 
are  told  we  should  discuss  this  question  with  calmness  and  com- 
posure. I  am  called  on  to  surrender  my  birthright  and  my  honor, 
and  I  am  told  I  should  be  calm,  composed. 

National  pride!  Independence  of  our  country!  These,  we 
are  told  by  the  Minister,  are  only  vulgar  topics,  fitted  for  the 
meridian  of  the  mob,  but  unworthy  to  be  rnxntioned  in  such  an 
enlightened  assembly  as  this;  they  are  trinkets  and  gewgaws  fit 
to  catch  the  fancy  of  childish  and  unthinking  people  like  you,  sir, 
or  like  your  predecessor  in  that  chair,  but  utterly  unworthy  the 
consideration  of  this  House,  or  of  the  matured  understanding  of 
the  noble  lord  who  condescends  to  instruct  it!  Gracious  God,  we 
see  a  Perry  reascending  from  the  tomb,  and  raising  his  awful 
voice  to  warn  us  against  the  surrender  of  our  freedom ;  and  we  see 
that  the  proud  and  virtuous  feelings  which  warmed  the  breast  of 
that  aged  and  venerable  man,  are  only  calculated  to  excite  the 
contempt  of  this  young  philosopher,  who  has  been  transplanted 
from  the  nursery  to  the  cabinet,  to  outrage  the  feelings  and  under- 
standing of  the  country 

—  Lord  Plunket, 


THE  STORMING  OF  MISSION  RIDGE 

Imagine  a  chain  of  Federal  forts,  built  in  between  with  walls 
of  living  men,  the  line  flung  northward  out  of  sight  and  south- 
ward beyond  Lookout.  Imagine  a  chain  of  mountains  crowned 
with  batteries  and  manned  with  hostile  troops  through  a  six-mile 


3^00  CHOICE  READINGS 

sweep,  set  over  against  us  in  plain  sight,  and  you  have  the  two 
fronts, —  the  blue,  the  gray.  Imagine  the  center  of  our  line  pushed 
out  a  mile  and  a  half  towards  Mission  Ridge,  and  you  have  the 
situation  as  it  was  on  the  morning  before  Thanksgiving.  And 
what  a  work  was  to  be  done!  One  and  a  half  miles  to  traverse, 
with  narrow  fringes  of  woods,  rough  valleys,  sweeps  of  open 
fields,  rocky  acclivities,  to  the  base  of  the  Ridge,  and  no  foot  in 
all  the  breadth  withdrawn  from  rebel  sight.  The  base  attained, 
what  then?  A  hill  struggling  up  out  of  the  valley  four  hun- 
dred feet,  rained  on  by  bullets,  swept  by  shot  and  shell;  an- 
other line  of  works,  and  then,  up  like  a  Gothic  roof,  rough  with 
rocks,  a-wreck  with  fallen  trees,  four  hundred  more;  another  ring 
of  fire  and  iron,  and  then  the  crest,  and  then  the  enemy. 

To  dream  of  such  a  journey  would  be  madness;  to  devise  it, 
a  thing  incredible;  to  do  it,  a  deed  impossible.  But  Grant  was 
guilty  of  them  all,  and  was  equal  to  the  work. 

The  bugle  swung  idly  at  the  bugler's  side.  The  warbling  fife 
and  rumbling  drum  were  unheard.  There  was  to  be  louder  talk. 
Six  guns  at  intervals  of  two  seconds,  the  signal  to  advance.  Strong 
and  steady  a  voice  rang  out:  "  Number  one,  fire!  Number  two, 
fire!  Number  three,  fire!"  It  seemed  to  me  the  tolling  of  the 
clock  of  destiny.  And  when  at  "  Number  six,  fire !  "  the  roar 
throbbed  out  with  the  flash,  you  could  have  seen  the  dead  line 
that  had  been  lying  behind  the  works  all  day,  all  night,  all  day 
again,  leap  like  a  blade  from  its  scabbard,  and  sweep  with  a 
two-mile  stroke  toward  the  Ridge.  From  divisions  to  brigades, 
from  brigades  to  regiments,  the  order  ran.  A  minute,  and  the 
skirmishers  deploy.  A  minute,  and  the  first  great  drops  begin  to 
patter  along  the  line.  A  minute,  and  the  musketry  is  in  full  play, 
like  the  crackling  whips  of  a  hemlock  fire.  Men  go  down  here 
and  there  before  your  eyes. 

But  I  may  tell  you  they  did  not  storm  that  mountain  as  you 
would  think.  They  dash  out  a  little  way,  and  then  slacken;  they 
creep  up,  hand  over  hand,  loading  and  firing,  and  wavering  and 
halting,  from  the  first  line  of  works  toward  the  second;  they 
burst  into  a  charge  with  a  cheer  and  go  over  it.  Sheets  of  flame 
baptize  them ;  plunging  shot  tear  away  comrades  on  left  and  right. 
It  is  no  longer  shoulder  to  shoulder ;  it  is  God  for  us  all.  Ten  — 
fifteen  —  twenty  minutes  go  by  like  a  reluctant  century.  The 
batteries  roll  like  a  drum.    The  hill  sways  up  like  a  wall  before 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  301 

them  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees ;  but  our  brave  mountaineers 
are  clambering  steadily  on  —  up  —  upw^ard  still!  And  what  do 
these  men  follow?  Your  heart  gives  a  great  bound  when  you 
think  what  it  is, —  the  regimental  flag, —  and,  glancing  along  the 
front,  count  fifteen  of  those  colors  that  were  borne  at  Pea  Ridge, 
waved  at  Shiloh,  glorified  at  Stone  River,  riddled  at  Chickamauga, 
Three  times  the  flag  of  the  27th  Illinois  goes  down.  And  you 
know  why.  Three  dead  color  sergeants  lie  just  there;  but  the 
flag  is  immortal  —  thank  God !  —  and  up  it  comes  again,  and  the 
men  move  on. 

I  give  a  look  at  the  sun  behind  me ;  it  is  not  more  than  a  hand- 
breadth  from  the  edge  of  the  mountain.  Oh,  for  the  voice  that 
could  bid  that  sun  stand  still !  I  turn  to  the  battle  again.  Those 
three  flags  have  taken  flight.  They  are  upward  bound!  The 
race  of  the  flags  is  growing  every  moment  more  terrible.  The 
iron  sledge  beats  on.  Hearts,  loyal  and  brave,  are  on  the  anvil  all 
the  way  from  base  to  summit  of  Mission  Ridge,  but  those  dreadful 
hammers  never  intermit.  Things  are  growing  desperate  up  aloft; 
the  enemy  tumble  rocks  upon  the  rising  line;  they  light  the  fuses 
and  roll  shells  down  the  steep;  they  load  the  guns  with  handfuls 
of  cartridges  in  their  haste;  and,  as  if  there  were  powder  in  the 
word,  they  shout  "  Chickamauga!  "  down  upon  the  mountaineers. 

But  all  would  not  do,  and  just  as  the  sun,  weary  of  the  scene, 
was  sinking  out  of  sight,  with  magnificent  bursts  all  along  the 
line,  exactly  as  you  have  seen  the  crested  seas  leap  up  at  the  break- 
water, the  advance  surged  over  the  crest,  and  in  a  minute  those 
flags  fluttered  along  the  fringe  where  fifty  guns  were  kenneled. 

—  Benjamin  F.  Taylor, 


A  PLEA  FOR  CUBA 

On  the  twelfth  of  March,  1898,  Senator  John  M.  Thurston  and  his  wife 
landed  at  the  harbor  of  Matanzas  to  make  an  independent  investigation  of 
aflFairs  in  Cuba.  Mrs.  Thurston  toiled  day  and  night  in  behalf  of  the  suffer- 
ing Cubans  until  her  strength  sank  beneath  the  strain,  and  the  spirit  of  the 
noble  woman  passed  away.  Her  last  request  was  that  her  husband  should 
not  allow  her  death  to  delay  his  efforts  in  behalf  of  Cuban  liberty.  So,  on  the 
twenty-fourth  of  March,  Mr.  Thurston  delivered  the  following  speech  before 
the  United  States  Senate. 

Mr.  President  —  I  am  here  by  command  of  silent  lips  to  speak 
once  and  for  all  upon  the  Cuban  situation.     I  trust  that  no  one 


802  CHOICE  READINGS 

has  expected  anything  sensational  from  me.  God  forbid  that  the 
bitterness  of  a  personal  loss  should  induce  me  to  color  in  the 
slightest  degree  the  statement  that  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  make.  I 
shall  endeavor  to  be  honest,  conservative,  and  just.  I  have  no 
purpose  to  stir  the  public  passion  to  any  action  not  necessary  and 
imperative  to  meet  the  duties  and  necessities  of  American  respon- 
sibility, Christian  humanity,  and  national  honor.  I  would  shirk 
this  task  if  I  could,  but  I  dare  not.  I  cannot  satisfy  my  conscience 
except  by  speaking,  and  speaking  now^. 

I  went  to  Cuba  firmly  believing  that  the  condition  of  affairs 
there  had  been  greatly  exaggerated  by  the  press,  and  my  own  ef- 
forts were  directed  in  the  first  instance  to  the  attempted  exposure 
of  these  supposed  exaggerations.  There  has  undoubtedly  been 
much  sensationalism  in  the  journalism  of  the  time,  but  as  to  the 
condition  of  affairs  in  Cuba  there  has  been  no  exaggeration,  be- 
cause exaggeration  has  been  impossible. 

The  pictures  in  the  American  newspapers  of  the  starving  recon- 
centrados  are  true.  They  can  all  be  duplicated  by  the  thousands. 
I  never  saw,  and  please  God  I  may  never  again  see,  so  deplorable 
a  sight  as  the  reconcentrados  in  the  suburbs  of  Matanzas.  I  can 
never  forget  to  my  dying  day  the  hopeless  anguish  in  their  despair- 
ing eyes.  Huddled  about  their  little  bark  huts,  they  raised  no 
voice  of  appeal  to  us  for  alms  as  we  went  among  them.  Men, 
women,  and  children  stand  silent,  famishing  with  hunger.  They 
have  no  homes  to  return  to;  their  fields  have  grown  up  to  weeds; 
they  have  no  oxen,  no  implements  of  husbandry  with  which  to  be- 
gin anew  the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  Their  only  hope  is  to  remain 
where  they  are,  to  live  as  long  as  they  can  on  any  insufficient 
charity,  and  then  die. 

The  government  of  Spain  will  not  appropriate  one  dollar  to 
save  these  people.  They  are  now  being  attended  and  nursed  and 
administered  to  by  the  charity  of  the  United  States.  Think  of  the 
spectacle!  We  are  feeding  these  citizens  of  Spain;  we  are  nursing 
the  sick;  we  are  saving  such  as  can  be  saved,  and  yet  there  are 
those  who  still  say  it  is  right  for  us  to  send  food,  but  we  must  keep 
hands  off.  I  say  that  time  has  come  when  muskets  ought  to  go 
with  the  food.  We  asked  the  governor  if  he  knew  of  any  relief 
for  these  people  except  through  the  charity  of  the  United  States. 
He  did  not.  We  asked  him,  "  When  do  you  think  the  time  will 
come  that  these  people  can  be  placed  in  a  position  of  self-support  ?  " 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  303 

He  replied  to  us,  with  deep  feeling,  "  Only  the  good  God,  or  the 
great  government  of  the  United  States  can  answer  that  question." 
I  hope  and  believe  that  the  good  God  by  the  great  government  of 
the  United  States  will  answer  that  question.  Spain  is  powerless 
to  end  the  conflict,  to  rehabilitate  the  island,  or  to  relieve  the  suf- 
fering, starvation,  and  distress.  The  time  for  action  then  has 
come.  No  greater  reason  for  it  can  exist  to-morrow  than  exists 
to-day.  Every  hour's  delay  only  adds  another  chapter  to  the 
awful  story  of  misery  and  death.  Only  one  Power  can  intervene  — 
the  United  States  of  America.  Ours  is  the  one  great  nation  of  the 
New  World,  the  mother  of  American  republics.  She  holds  a 
position  of  trust  and  responsibility  toward  the  peoples  of  the  whole 
Western  Hemisphere.  It  was  her  glorious  example  which  inspired 
the  patriots  of  Cuba  to  raise  the  flag  of  liberty  in  her  eternal  hills. 
We  cannot  refuse  to  accept  this  responsibility  which  the  God  of 
the  universe  has  placed  upon  us  as  the  one  great  power  in  the  New 
World.  We  must  act!  What  shall  our  action  be?  Some  say, 
The  acknowledgment  of  the  belligerency  of  the  revoluttonists.  The 
hour  and  the  opportunity  for  that  have  passed  away.  Others  say, 
Let  us  by  resolution  or  official  proclamation  recognize  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  Cubans.  It  is  too  late  even  for  such  recognition 
to  be  of  great  avail.  Others  say.  Annexation  to  the  United  States. 
God  forbid !  I  would  oppose  annexation  with  my  latest  breath. 
The  people  of  Cuba  are  not  our  people:  they  cannot  assimilate  with 
us.  Let  the  world  understand  that  the  United  States  does  not 
propose  to  annex  Cuba,  that  it  is  not  seeking  a  foot  of  Cuban  soil 
or  a  dollar  of  Spanish  treasure. 

There  is  only  one  action  possible,  if  any  is  taken ;  that  is,  inter- 
vention for  the  independence  of  the  island ;  intervention  that  means 
the  landing  of  an  Am.erican  army  on  Cuban  soil,  the  deploying  of 
an  American  fleet  off  Havana;  intervention  which  says  to  Spain, 
Leave  the  island,  withdraw  your  soldiers,  leave  the  Cubans,  these 
brothers  of  ours,  to  form  and  carry  on  a  government  for  them- 
selves. Against  the  intervention  of  the  United  States  in  this  holy 
cause  there  is  but  one  voice  of  dissent ;  that  voice  is  the  voice  of  the 
money-changers.  They  fear  war !  Not  because  of  any  Christian 
or  ennobling  sentiment  against  war  and  in  favor  of  peace,  but  be- 
cause they  fear  that  declaration  of  war,  or  the  intervention  which 
might  result  in  war,  would  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  the 
stock  market.     Let  them  go.     They  do  not  represent  American 


804  CHOICE  READINGS 

sentiment;  they  do  not  represent  American  patriotism.  Let  them 
take  their  chances  as  they  can.  Their  weal  or  woe  is  of  but  little 
importance  to  the  liberty-loving  people  of  the  United  States,  They 
will  not  do  the  fighting;  their  blood  will  not  flow;  they  will  keep 
on  dealing  in  options  on  human  life.  Let  the  men  whose  loyalty 
is  to  the  dollar  stand  aside  while  the  men  whose  loyalty  is  to  the 
flag  come  to  the  front. 

Mr.  President,  there  are  those  who  say  that  the  affairs  of 
Cuba  are  not  the  affairs  of  the  United  States,  who  insist  that  we 
can  stand  idly  by  and  see  that  island  devastated  and  depopulated, 
its  business  interests  destroyed,  its  commercial  intercourse  with  us 
cut  off,  its  people  starved,  degraded,  and  enslaved.  It  may  be  the 
naked  legal  right  of  the  United  States  to  stand  thus  idly  by.  I 
have  the  legal  right  to  pass  along  the  street  and  see  a  helpless  dog 
stamped  into  the  earth  under  the  heels  of  a  ruffian.  I  can  pass 
by  and  say  that  is  not  my  dog.  I  can  sit  in  my  comfortable  par- 
lor with  my  loved  ones  gathered  about  me,  and  through  my  plate~ 
glass  window  see  a  fiend  outrage  a  helpless  woman  near  by,  and 
I  can  legally  say  this  is  no  affair  of  mine  —  it  is  not  happening  on 
my  premises;  and  I  can  turn  away  and  take  my  little  ones  in  my 
arms,  and,  with  the  memory  of  their  sainted  mother  in  my  heart, 
look  up  to  the  motto  on  the  wall  and  read,  "  God  bless  our  home." 
But  if  I  do  it  I  am  a  coward  and  a  cur,  unfit  to  live,  and  God 
knows,  unfit  to  die. 

And  yet  I  cannot  protect  the  dog  or  save  the  woman  without 
the  exercise  of  force.  \J^e  cannot  intervene  and  save  Cuba  with- 
out the  exercise  of  force,  and  force  means  war:  war  means  blood. 
The  lowly  Nazarene  on  the  shores  of  Galilee  preached  the  divine 
doctrine  of  love,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men.*'  Not 
peace  on  earth  at  the  expense  of  liberty  and  humanity.  Not  good 
will  toward  men  who  despoil,  enslave,  degrade,  and  starve  to 
death  their  fellow  men.  I  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  peace;  but, 
men  must  have  liberty  before  there  can  come  abiding  peaceTl  When 
has  a  battle  for  humanity  and  liberty  ever  been  won  except  by 
force?  What  barricade  of  wrong,  injustice,  and  oppression  has 
ever  been  carried  except  by  force? 

Force  compelled  the  signature  of  unwilling  royalty  to  the  great 
Magna  Charta;  force  put  life  into  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence and  made  effective  the  Emancipation  Proclamation;  force 
beat  with  naked  hands  upon  the  iron  gateway  of  the  Bastile  and 


ORATORICAL   SELECTIONS  305 

made  reprisal  in  one  awful  hour  for  centuries  of  kingly  crime; 
force  waved  the  flag  of  revolution  over  Bunker  Hill  and  marked 
the  snows  of  Valley  Forge  with  blood-stained  feet;  force  held  the 
broken  line  at  Shiloh,  climbed  the  flame-swept  hill  at  Chattanooga 
and  stormed  the  clouds  on  Lookout  Heights;  force  marched  with 
Sherman  to  the  sea,  rode  with  Sheridan  in  the  valley  of  the 
Shenandoah,  and  gave  Grant  victory  at  Appomattox;  force  saved 
the  Union,  kept  the  stars  in  the  flag,  made  *'  niggers  "  men.  The 
time  for  God's  force  has  come  again.  Let  the  impassioned  lips  of 
American  patriots  once  more  take  up  the  song: 

"  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigured  you  and  me, 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
For  God  is  marching  on." 

Others  may  hesitate,  others  may  procrastinate,  others  may 
plead  for  further  diplomatic  negotiation,  which  means  delay,  but 
for  me,  I  am  ready  to  act  now,  and  for  my  action  I  am  ready  to 
answer  to  my  conscience,  my  country,  and  my  God. 

Mr.  President,  in  the  cable  that  moored  me  to  life  and  hope 
the  strongest  strands  are  broken.  I  have  but  little  left  to  oiler  at 
the  altar  of  Freedom's  sacrifice,  but  all  I  have  I  am  glad  to  give. 
I  am  ready  to  serve  my  country  as  best  I  can  in  the  Senate  or  in  the 
field.  My  dearest  wish,  my  most  earnest  prayer  to  God  is  this, 
that  when  death  comes  to  end  all,  I  may  meet  it  calmly  and  fear- 
lessly as  did  my  beloved,  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  under  the 
American  flag. 

—  John  M,  Thurston. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH 

"  There  was  a  South  of  slavery  and  secession  —  that  South 
IS  dead.  There  is  a  South  of  union  and  freedom  —  that  South, 
thank  God,  is  living,  breathing,  growing  every  hour.'*  These 
words  delivered  from  the  immortal  lips  of  Benjamin  H,  Hill,  at 
Tammany  Hall,  in  1866,  true  then,  and  truer  now,  I  shall  make 
my  text  tc-night. 

In  speaking  to  the  toast  with  which  you  have  honored  me, 
I  accept  the  term,  "  The  New  South,''  as  in  no  sense  disparaging 
to  the  old.     Dear  to  me,  sir,  is  the  home  of  my  childhood,  and 


806  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  traditions  of  my  people.  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  dim  the 
glory  they  won  in  peace  and  war,  or  by  word  or  deed  take  aught 
from  the  splendor  and  grace  of  their  civilization,  never  equalled, 
and  perhaps  never  to  be  equalled  in  its  chivalric  strength  and 
grace.  There  is  a  New  South,  not  through  protest  against  the 
Old,  but  because  of  new  conditions,  new  adjustments,  and,  if  you 
please,  new  ideas  and  aspirations. 

Dr.  Talmage  has  drawn  for  you,  with  a  master  hand,  the 
picture  of  your  returning  armies.  He  has  told  you  how,  in  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  war,  they  came  back  to  you,  marching 
with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their  glory  in  a  na- 
tion's eyes.  Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  you  of  another 
army  that  sought  its  home  at  the  close  of  the  late  war?  An  army 
that  marched  home  in  defeat  and  not  in  victory;  in  pathos  and 
not  in  splendor,  but  in  glory  that  equalled  yours,  and  to  hearts 
as  loving  as  ever  welcomed  heroes  home.  Let  me  picture  to  you 
the  footsore  Confederate  soldier,  as,  buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray 
jacket  the  parole  which  was  to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of 
his  fidelity  and  faith,  he  turned  his  face  southward  from  Appo- 
mattox in  April,  1865.  Think  of  him  as  ragged,  half-starved, 
heavy-hearted,  enfeebled  by  want  and  wounds;  having  fought  to 
exhaustion,  he  surrenders  his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his  com- 
rades in  silence,  and,  lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid  face  for 
the  last  time  to  the  graves  that  dot  the  old  Virginia  hills,  pulls 
his  gray  cap  over  his  brow  and  begins  the  slow  and  painful  jour- 
ney. What  does  he  find?  —  let  me  ask  you  who  went  to  your 
homes  eager  to  find,  in  the  welcome  you  had  justly  earned,  full 
payment  for  four  years*  sacrifice  —  what  does  he  find,  when,  hav- 
ing followed  the  battle-stained  cross  against  overwhelming  odds, 
dreading  death  not  half  so  much  as  surrender,  he  reaches  the 
home  he  left  so  prosperous  and  beautiful?  He  finds  his  house  in 
ruins,  his  farm  devastated,  his  slaves  free,  his  stock  killed,  his 
barn  empty,  his  trade  destroyed,  his  money  worthless;  his  social 
system,  feudal  in  its  magnificence,  swept  away;  his  people  without 
law  or  legal  status;  his  comrades  slain,  and  the  burdens  of  others 
heavy  on  his  shoulders.  Crushed  by  defeat,  his  very  traditions 
gone;  without  money,  credit,  employment,  material  training;  and 
besides  all  this,  confronted  with  the  gravest  problem  that  ever 
met  human  intelligence  —  the  establishment  of  a  status  for  the 
vast  body  of  his  liberated  slaves. 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  307 

What  does  he  do  —  this  hero  in  gray,  with  a  heart  of  gold  ? 
Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair?  Not  for  a  day. 
Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of  his  prosperity,  inspired  him 
in  his  adversity.  As  ruin  was  never  before  so  overwhelming, 
never  was  restoration  swifter.  The  soldier  stepped  from  the 
trenches  into  the  furrow;  horses  that  had  charged  Federal  guns 
marched  before  the  plough ;  and  the  fields  that  ran  red  with  human 
blood  in  April  were  green  with  the  harvest  in  June. 

But  in  all  this  what  have  we  accomplished?  We  have  found 
out  that  the  free  negro  counts  more  than  he  did  as  a  slave.  We 
have  planted  the  school-house  on  the  hilltop  and  made  it  free  to 
white  and  black.  We  have  sowed  towns  and  cities  in  the  place  of 
theories,  and  put  business  above  politics.  We  have  learned  that 
the  $400,ocx),ooo  annually  received  from  our  cotton  crop  will 
make  us  rich,  when  the  supplies  that  make  it  are  home  raised. 

The  new  South  is  enamored  of  her  new  work.  Her  soul  is 
stirred  with  the  breath  of  a  new  life.  The  light  of  a  grander  day 
is  falling  fair  on  her  face.  She  is  thrilling  with  the  consciousness 
of  a  growing  power  and  prosperity.  As  she  stands  upright,  full- 
statured  and  equal  among  the  people  of  the  earth,  breathing  the 
keen  air  and  looking  out  upon  the  expanding  horizon,  she  under- 
stands that  her  emancipation  came  because  in  the  inscrutable  wis- 
dom of  God  her  honest  purpose  was  crossed  and  her  brave  armies 
were  beaten. 

This  is  said  in  no  spirit  of  time-serving  or  apology.  The  South 
has  nothing  for  which  to  apologize.  I  should  be  unjust  to  the 
dauntless  spirit  of  the  South  and  to  my  own  convictions  if  I  did 
not  make  this  plain  in  this  presence.  The  South  has  nothing  to 
take  back.  In  my  native  town  of  Athens  is  a  monument  that 
crowns  its  central  hills  —  a  plain,  white  shaft.  Deep  cut  into  its 
shining  side  is  a  name  dear  to  me  above  the  names  of  men,  that  of 
a  brave  and  simple  man  who  died  in  a  brave  and  simple  faith. 
Not  for  all  the  glories  of  New  England  —  from  Plymouth  Rock 
all  the  way  —  would  I  exchange  the  heritage  he  left  me  in  his 
soldier's  death.  To  the  feet  of  that  shaft  I  shall  send  my  chil- 
dren's children  to  reverence  him  w^ho  ennobled  their  name  with  his 
heroic  blood.  But,  sir,  speaking  from  the  shadow  of  that  memory, 
which  I  honor  as  I  do  nothing  else  on  earth,  I  say  that  the  cause 
in  which  he  suffered  and  for  which  he  gave  his  life  was  adjudged 
by  higher  and  fuller  wisdom  than  his  or  mine,  and  I  am  glad  that 


308  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  omniscient  God  held  the  balance  of  battle  in  His  Almighty 
Hand,  and  that  human  slavery  was  swept  forever  from  America's 
soil  —  the  American  Union  saved  from  the  wreck  of  war. 

This  message,  Mr.  President,  comes  to  you  from  consecrated 
ground.  Every  foot  of  the  soil  about  the  city  in  which  I  live  is 
sacred  as  a  battle-ground  of  the  republic.  Every  hill  that  invests 
it  is  hallowed  to  you  by  the  blood  of  your  brothers  who  died  for 
your  victory,  and  doubly  hallowed^  to  us  by  the  blood  of  those  who 
died  hopeless,  but  undaunted,  in  defeat  —  sacred  soil  to  all  of  us, 
rich  with  memories  that  make  us  purer  and  stronger  and  better. 

Now  what  answer  has  New  England  to  this  message?  Will 
she  permit  the  prejudice  of  war  to  remain  in  the  hearts  of  the  con- 
querors, when  it  has  died  in  the  hearts  of  the  conquered?  Will 
she  transmit  this  prejudice  to  the  next  generation,  that  in  their 
hearts,  which  never  felt  the  generous  ardor  of  conflict,  it  may  per- 
petuate itself?  Will  she  withhold,  save  in  strained  courtesy,  the 
hand  which,  straight  from  his  soldier's  heart.  Grant  offered  to  Lee 
at  Appomattox  ?  Will  she  make  the  vision  of  a  restored  and  happy 
people,  which  gathered  about  the  couch  of  your  dying  captain, 
filling  his  heart  with  grace,  touching  his  lips  with  praise  and  glori- 
fying his  path  to  the  grave,  will  she  make  this  vision,  on  which  the 
last  sigh  of  his  expiring  soul  breathed  a  benediction,  a  cheat  and 
delusion?  If  she  does,  the  South,  never  abject  in  asking  for  com- 
radeship, must  accept  with  dignity  its  refusal;  but  if  she  does  not 
—  if  she  accepts  with  frankness  and  sincerity  this  message  of  good 
will  and  friendship,  then  will  the  prophecy  of  Webster,  delivered 
in  this  very  Society  forty  years  ago,  amid  tremendous  applause, 
be  verified  in  its  fullest  and  final  sense,  when  he  said:  "  Standing 
hand  to  hand  and  clasping  hands,  we  should  remain  united  as 
we  have  for  sixty  years,  citizens  of  the  same  country,  members  of 
the  same  government,  united  all,  united  now,  and  united  forever." 

—  Henry  W.  Grady, 


.      EXTRACT  FROM   PRESIDENT  WILSON'S 
INAUGURAL  ADDRESS 

March,  1913 
There  has  been  a  change  of  government.     It  began  two  years 
ago,  when  the  House  of  Representatives  became  Democratic  by 
a  decisive  majority.    It  has  now  been  completed. 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  309 

What  does  the  change  mean?  That  is  the  question  that  is 
uppermost  in  our  minds  to-day.  That  is  the  question  I  am  going 
to  try  to  answer,  in  order,  if  I  may,  to  interpret  the  occasion. 

It  means  much  more  than  the  mere  success  of  a  party.  The 
success  of  a  party  means  little  except  when  the  nation  is  using  that 
party  for  a  large  and  definite  purpose. 

Some  old  things  with  which  we  had  grown  familiar,  and  which 
had  hegun  to  creep  into  the  very  habit  of  our  thought  and  of  our 
lives,  have  altered  their  aspect  as  we  have  latterly  looked  critically 
upon  them. 

Some  new  things,  as  we  look  frankly  upon  them,  willing  to 
comprehend  their  real  character,  have  come  to  assume  the  aspect 
of  things  long  believed  in  and  familiar,  stuff  of  our  own  convic- 
tions.    We  have  been  refreshed  by  a  new  insight  into  our  own 

life. 

****** 

We  see  ^ that  in  many  things  that  life  is  very  great.     It  is 
incomparably  great  in  its  material  aspects,  in  its  body  of  wealth, 
in  the  diversity  and  sweep  of  its  energy,  in  the  industries  which 
have  been  conceived  and  built  up  by  the  genius  of  individual  men^ 
and  the  limitless  enterprise  of  groups  of  men. 

It  is  great,  also,  very  great,  in  its  moral  force.     Nowhere  else 
in  the  world  have  noble  men  and  women  exhibited  in  more^strik- 
ing  forms  the  beauty  and  the  energy  of  sympathy  and  helpfulness^ 
and  counsel  in  their  efforts  to  rectify  wrong,  alleviate  suffering  and 
set  the  weak  in  the  way  of  strength  and  hope. 

We  have  built  up,  moreover,  a  gre^t  system  of  government, 
which  has  stood  through  a  long  age  as,  in  many  respects,  a  model 
for  those  who  iseek  Ito  set  liberty  upon  foundations  that  will  en- 
dure against  fortuitous  change,  against  storm  and  accident. 

But  the  evil  has  come  with  the  good. 

With  riches  has  come  inexcusable  waste.  We  have  squandered 
a  great  part  of  what  we  might  have  used,  and  have  not  stopped  to 
conserve  the  exceeding  bounty  of  nature. 

We  have  been  proud  of  our  industrial  achievements,  but  we 
have  not  hitherto  stopped  thoughtfully  enough  to  count  the  human 
cost. 

The  great  government  we  loved  has  too  often  been  made  use  of 
for  private  and  selfish  purposes;  and  those  who  used  it  had  for- 
gotten the  people. 


810  CHOICE  READINGS 

At  last  a  vision  has  been  vouchsafed  us  of  our  life  as  a  whole. 
We  see  the  bad  with  the  good,  the  debased  and  decadent  with  the 
sound  and  vital.  With  this  vision  we  approach  new  affairs.  Our 
duty  is  to  cleanse,  to  reconsider,  to  restore,  to  correct  the  evil 
without  impairing  the  good,  to  purify  and  humanize  every  pro- 
cess of  our  common  life  without  weakening  or  sentimentalizing  it. 

We  have  come  now  to  the  sober  second  thought.  The  scales 
of  heedlessness  have  fallen  from  our  eyes.  We  have  made  up  our 
minds  to  square  every  process  of  our  national  life  again  with  the 
standards  we  so  proudly  set  up  at  the  beginning  and  have  always 
carried  at  our  hearts.    Our  work  is  a  work  of  restoration. 

We  have  studied  as  perhaps  no  other  nation  has  the  most  ef- 
fective means  of  production,  but  we  have  not  studied  cost  or  econ- 
omy as  we  should  either  as  organizers  of  industry,  as  statesmen, 

or  as  individuals. 

****** 

Nor  have  we  studied  and  perfected  the  means  by  which 
government  may  be  put  at  the  service  of  humanity,  in  safeguarding 
the  health  of  the  nation,  the  health  of  its  men  and  its  women  and 
its  children,  as  well  as  their  rights  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
This  is  no  sentimental  duty.  The  firm  basis  of  government  is 
justice,  not  pity.    These  are  matters  of  justice. 

There  can  be  no  equality  of  opportunity,  the  first  essential  of 
justice  in  the  body  politic,  if  men  and  women  and  children  be 
not  shielded  in  their  lives,  their  very  vitality,  from  the  consequences 
of  great  industrial  and  social  processes  which  they  cannot  alter, 
control  or  singly  cope  with. 

Society  must  see  to  it  that  it  does  not  itself  crush  or  weaken  or 
damage  its  own  constituent  parts.  The  first  duty  of  law  is  to  keep 
sound  the  society  it  serves. 

These  are  some  of  the  things  we  ought  to  do,  and  not  leave 
the  others  undone,  the  old-fashioned,  never- to-be-neglected,  funda- 
mental safeguarding  of  property  and  of  individual  right. 

This  is  the  high  enterprise  of  the  new  day:  to  lift  everything 
that  concerns  our  life  as  a  nation  to  the  light  that  shines  from  the 
hearthfire  of  every  man's  conscience  and  vision  of  the  right. 

It  is  inconceivable  that  we  should  do  this  as  partisans;  it  is 
inconceivable  we  should  do  it  in  ignorance  of  the  facts  as  they  are^ 
or  in  blind  haste.    We  shall  restore,  not  destroy. 

We  shall  deal  with  our  economic  system  as  it  island  as  it  may 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  311 

be  modified,  not  as  it  might  be  if  we  had  a  clean  sheet  of  paper 
to  write  upon ;  and  step  by  step  we  shall  make  it  what  it  should 
be,  in  the  spirit  of  those  who  question  their  own  wisdom  and  seek 
counsel  and  knowledge,  not  shallow  self-satisfaction  or  the  excite- 
ment of  excursions  whither  they  cannot  tell.  Justice,  and  only 
justice,  shall  always  be  our  motto. 

And  yet  it  will  be  no  cool  process  of  mere  science.  The  nation 
has  been  deeply  stirred,  stirred  by  a  solemn  passion,  stirred  by  the 
knowledge  of  wrong,  of  ideals  lost,  of  government  too  often  de- 
bauched and  made  an  instrument  of  evil. 

The  feelings  with  which  we  face  this  new  age  of  right  and 
opportunity  sweep  across  our  heart-strings  like  some  air  out  of 
God's  own  presence,  where  justice  and  mercy  are  reconciled  and 
the  judge  and  the  brother  are  one. 

We  know  our  task  to  be  no  mere  task  of  politics,  but  a  task 
which  shall  search  us  through  and  through,  whether  we  be  able 
to  understand  our  time  and  the  need  of  our  people,  whether  we 
be  indeed  their  spokesmen  and  interpreters,  whether  we  have  the 
pure  heart  to  comprehend  and  the  rectified  will  to  choose  our  high 
course  of  action. 

This  is  not  a  day  of  triumph ;  it  is  a  day  of  dedication.  Here 
muster,  not  the  forces  of  party,  but  the  forces  of  humanity.  Men^s 
hearts  wait  upon  us;  men's  lives  hang  in  the  balance;  ixien's  hopes 
call  upon  us  to  say  what  we  will  do. 

Who  shall  live  up  to  the  great  trust?    Who  dares  fail  to  try? 

I  summon  all  honest  men,  all  patriotic,  all  forward-looking 
men,  to  my  side. 

God  helping  me,  I  will  not  fail  them,  if  they  will  but  counsel 
and  sustain  me! 

—  Woodroiu  Wilson, 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL  ON  REPEAL  OF  THE  UNION 

Probably  the  largest  political  gathering  in  the  history  of  the  world  was 
held  on  the  Hill  of  Tara,  August  15,  1843.  It  is  estimated  that  not  less  than 
a  quarter  of  a  million  persons  were  present.  They  came  from  all  parts  of 
Ireland,  under  the  guidance  of  their  parish  priests,  to  hear  the  great  orator. 

We  are  standing  upon  Tara  of  the  Kings ;  the  spot  where  the 
monarchs  of  Ireland  were  elected,  and  where  the  chieftains  of 
Ireland  bound  themselves,  by  the  most  solemn  pledges  of  honor,  to 


312  CHOICE  READINGS 

protect  their  native  land  against  the  Dane  and  every  stranger. 
This  w^as  emphatically  the  spot  from  v^hich  emanated  every  social 
power  and  legal  authority  by  vi^hich  the  force  of  the  entire  country 
was  concentrated  for  the  purposes  of  national  defense. 

On  this  spot  I  have  a  most  important  duty  to  perform.  I  here 
protest,  in  the  name  of  my  country  and  in  the  name  of  my  God, 
against  the  unfounded  and  unjust  Union.  My  proposition  to  Ire- 
land is  that  the  Union  is  not  binding  on  her  people.  It  is  void 
in  conscience  and  in  principle,  and  as  a  matter  of  constitutional 
law  I  attest  these  facts.  Yes,  I  attest  by  everything  that  is  sacred, 
without  being  profane,  the  truth  of  my  assertions.  There  is  no 
real  union  between  the  two  countries,  and  my  proposition  is  that 
there  was  no  authority  given  to  any  one  to  pass  the  Act  of  Union. 
Neither  the  English  nor  the  Irish  Legislature  was  competent  to 
pass  that  Act,  and  I  arraign  it  on  these  grounds.  One  authority 
alone  could  make  that  Act  binding,  and  that  was  the  voice  of  the 
people  of  Ireland.  The  Irish  Parliament  was  elected  to  make 
laws,  and  not  to  make  legislatures;  and,  therefore,  it  had  no  right 
to  assume  the  authority  to  pass  the  Act  of  Union.  The  Irish  Par- 
liament was  elected  by  the  Irish  people  as  their  trustees;  the  peo- 
ple were  their  masters,  and  the  members  were  their  servants,  and 
had  no  right  to  transfer  the  property  to  any  other  power  on  earth. 
If  the  Irish  Parliament  had  transferred  its  power  of  legislation 
to  the  French  Chamber,  would  any  man  assert  that  the  Act  w^as 
valid?  Would  any  man  be  mad  enough  to  assert  it?  Would 
any  man  be  insane  enough  to  assert  it,  and  would  the  insanity  of 
the  assertion  be  mitigated  by  sending  any  number  of  members  to 
the  French  Chamber?  Everybody  must  admit  that  it  would  not. 
What  care  I  for  France?  —  and  I  care  as  little  for  England  as 
for  France,  for  both  countries  are  foreign  to  me.  The  very  high- 
est authority  in  England  has  proclaimed  us  to  be  aliens  in  blood, 
in  religion,  and  in  language.  To  show  the  invalidity  of  the  Union, 
I  will  only  quote  the  declaration  of  Lord  Plunket  in  the  Irish 
Parliament,  who  told  them  that  they  had  no  authority  to  transfer 
the  legislation  of  the  country  to  other  hands.  As  well,  said  he, 
might  a  maniac  imagine  that  the  blow  by  which  he  destroys  his 
wretched  body  annihilates  his  immortal  soul,  as  you  imagine  that 
you  can  annihilate  the  soul  of  Ireland  —  her  constitutional  rights. 

I  therefore  proclaim  the  nullity  of  the  Union.     In  the  face  of 
Europe  I. proclaim  its  nullity.    In  the  face  of  France  and  of  Spain, 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  313 

I  proclaim  Its  nullity ;  and  I  proclaim  its  nullity  in  the  face  of  the 
liberated  States  of  America.  I  go  farther,  and  proclaim  its  nul- 
lity on  the  grounds  of  the  iniquitous  means  by  which  it  was  car- 
ried. It  was  effected  by  the  most  flagrant  fraud.  A  rebellion 
was  provoked  by  the  Government  of  the  day,  in  order  that  they 
might  have  a  pretext  for  crushing  the  liberties  of  Ireland.  There 
was  this  addition  to  the  fraud,  that  at  the  time  of  the  Union, 
Ireland  had  no  legal  protection.  The  Habeas  Corpus  Act  was 
suspended,  and  the  lives  and  liberties  of  the  people  were  at  the 
mercy  of  courts-martial.  You  remember  the  shrieks  of  those  who 
suffered  under  martial  law.  The  next  fraud  was  that  the  Irish 
people  were  not  allowed  to  meet  to  remonstrate  against  it.  In 
King's  County  the  High  Sheriff  called  the  people  together  in  the 
courthouse,  and  Colonel  Connor,  of  the  North  Cork  Militia,  sup- 
ported by  artillery  and  a  troop  of  horse,  entered  the  courthouse  at 
the  head  of  two  hundred  of  his  regiment,  and  turned  out  the  sher- 
iS,  magistrates,  grand  jurors,  and  free-holders  assembled  to  peti- 
tion against  the  enactment  of  the  Union.  In  Tipperary  a  similar 
scene  took  place.  A  meeting  convened  by  the  High  Sheriff  was 
dispersed  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Thus  public  sentiment  was 
stifled;  and  if  there  was  a  compact,  as  is  alleged,  it  is  void  on  ac- 
count of  the  fraud  and  force  by  which  it  was  carried. 

My  next  impeachment  against  the  Union  is  the  gross  corrup- 
tion with  which  it  was  carried.  No  less  than  £1,275,000  was 
spent  upon  the  rotten  boroughs,  and  £2,000,000  was  given  in 
direct  bribery.  There  was  not  one  office  that  was  not  made  Instru- 
mental to  the  carrying  of  the  measure.  Six  to  seven  judges  were 
raised  to  the  Bench  for  the  votes  they  gave  in  its  support ;  and  no 
less  than  twelve  bishops  were  elevated  to  the  Episcopal  Bench 
for  having  taken  the  side  of  the  Union ;  for  corruption  then  spared 
nothing  to  effect  its  purpose  —  corruption  was  never  carried  so 
far;  and  if  this  is  to  be  binding  on  the  Irish  nation,  there  is  no  use 
in  honesty  at  all. 

My  next  impeachment  of  the  Union  is  its  destructive  and  dele- 
terious effect  upon  the  industry  and  prosperity  of  the  country. 
The  county  of  Meath  was  once  studded  with  noble  residences. 
What  IS  it  now?  You  remember  the  once  prosperous  linen-weavers 
of  Meath.  There  is  scarcely  a  penny  paid  to  them  now.  In  short, 
the  Union  struck  down  the  manufactures  of  Ireland.  The  Com- 
missioners of  the  Poor  Law  prove  that  120,000  persons  in  Ireland 


314  CHOICE  READINGS 

are  in  a  state  of  destitution  during  the  greater  part  of  each  year. 
How  is  it  that  in  one  of  the  most  fertile  countries  in  the  world 
this  should  occur?  But  the  Union  is  more  a  nullity  on  ecclesiasti- 
cal grounds;  for  why  should  the  great  majority  of  the  people  of 
Ireland  pay  for  the  support  of  a  religion  which  they  do  not  believe 
to  be  true?  The  Union  was  carried  by  the  most  abominable  cor- 
ruption and  bribery,  by  financial  robbery  on  an  extensive  scale, 
which  makes  it  the  more  heinous  and  oppressive;  and  the  result 
is  that  Ireland  is  saddled  with  an  unjust  debt,  her  commerce  is 
taken  from  her,  her  trade  is  destroyed,  and  a  large  number  of  her 
people  are  thus  reduced  to  misery  and  distress. 

On  the  2nd  of  January  last  I  called  this  the  Repeal  year,  and 
I  was  laughed  at  for  doing  so.  Are  they  laughing  now  ?  No ;  it 
is  now  my  turn  to  laugh ;  and  I  will  now  say  that  in  twelve  months 
more  we  will  have  our  own  Parliament  again  on  College  Green. 
The  Queen  has  the  undoubted  prerogative  at  any  time  to  order 
her  Ministers  to  issue  writs,  which,  being  signed  by  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, the  Irish  Parliament  would  at  once  be  convened  without  the 
necessity  of  applying  to  the  English  Legislature  to  repeal  what 
they  appear  to  consider  a  valid  Act  of  Union.  And  if  Sugden 
would  not  sign  the  writ,  an  Irish  Chancellor  would  soon  be  found 
who  would  do  so.  And  if  we  have  our  Parliament  again  in  Dub- 
lin, is  there,  I  would  ask,  a  coward  amongst  you'  who  would  not 
rather  die  than  allow  it  to  be  taken  away  by  an  Act  of  Union? 
Let  every  man  who  would  not  allow  the  Act  of  Union  to  pass 
hold  up  his  hand.  When  the  Irish  Parliament  is  again  assembled, 
I  will  defy  any  power  on  earth  to  take  it  from  us  again.  Your 
shouts  are  almost  enough  to  call  to  life  those  who  rest  in  the 
grave.  I  can  almost  fancy  the  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead  hovering 
over  you,  and  the  ancient  kings  and  chiefs  of  Ireland,  from  the 
clouds  listening  to  the  shouts  sent  up  from  Tara  for  Irish  liberty. 
Your  cheers  will  penetrate  to  the  extremity  of  civilization.  Our 
movement  is  the  admiration  of  the  world,  for  no  other  country 
can  show  so  much  force  with  so  much  propriety  of  conduct.  No , 
other  country  can  show  a  people  assembled  for  the  highest  national 
purposes  that  can  actuate  man;  can  show  hundreds  of  thousands 
able  in  strength  to  carry  any  battle  that  ever  was  fought,  and  yet 
separating  with  the  tranquillity  of  schoolboys.  You  have  stood  by 
me  long  —  stand  by  me  a  little  longer,  and  Ireland  will  be  again 
a  nation. 

—  Daniel  O'ConneU. 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  315 

ERSKINE  ON  THE  FREEDOM  OF  THE  PRESS 

I  say  without  reserve,  speaking  merely  in  the  abstract,  and  not 
meaning  to  decide  upon  the  merits  of  Mr.  Hastings's  cause,  that 
an  impeachment  for  an  error  in  judgment  is  contrary  to  the  whole 
^irit  of  English  criminal  justice,  w^hich,  though  not  binding  on 
the  House  of  Commons,  ought  to  be  a  guide  to  its  proceedings. 
I  say  that  the  extraordinary  jurisdiction  of  impeachment  ought 
never  to  be  assumed  to  expose  error,  or  to  scourge  misfortune, 
but  to  hold  up  a  terrible  example  to  corruption  and  willful  abuse 
of  authority,  by  extra  legal  pains. 

Now,  is  it  possible  for  any  human  being  to  believe  that  a  man, 
having  no  other  intention  than  to  villify  the  House  of  Commons 
(as  this  information  charges),  should  yet  keep  his  mind  thus  fixed 
and  settled  as  the  needle  to  the  pole,  upon  the  serious  merits  of 
Mr.  Hastings's  defense,  without  ever  straying  into  matter  even 
questionable,  except  in  the  two  or  three  selected  parts  out  of  two  or 
three  hundred  pages?  This  is  a  forbearance  which  could  not 
have  existed  if  calumny  and  detraction  had  been  the  malignant 
objects  which  led  him  to  the  inquiry  and  publication.  The  whole 
fallacy,  therefore,  arises  from  holding  up  to  view  a  few  detached 
passages,  and  carefully  concealing  the  general  tenor  of  the  book. 

It  now  remains  to  remind  you  that  another  consideration  has 
been  strongly  pressed  upon  you,  and,  no  doubt,  will  be  insisted  on 
in  reply.  You  will  be  told  that  the  matters  which  I  have  been 
justifying  as  legal,  and  even  meritorious,  have  therefore  not  been 
made  the  subject  of  complaint;  and  that  whatever  intrinsic  merit 
parts  of  the  book  may  be  supposed  or  even  admitted  to  possess, 
such  merit  can  afford  no  justification  to  the  selected  passages,  some 
of  which,  even  with  the  context,  carry  the  meaning  charged  by  the 
information,  and  which  are  indecent  animadversions  on  authority. 
To  this  I  would  answer  (still  protesting  as  I  do  against  the  applica- 
tion of  any  one  of  the  innuendoes),  that  if  you  are  firmly  per- 
suaded of  the  singleness  and  purity  of  the  author's  intentions,  you 
are  not  bound  to  subject  him  to  infamy,  because,  in  the  zealous 
career  of  a  just  and  animated  composition,  he  happens  to  have 
tripped  with  his  pen  into  an  intemperate  expression  in  one  or  two 
instances  of  a  long  work.  If  this  severe  duty  were  binding  on 
your  consciences,  the  liberty  of  the  press  would  be  an  empty  sound, 
and  no  man  could  venture  to  write  on  any  subject,  however  pure 


316  CHOICE  READINGS 

his  purpose,  without  an  attorney  at  one  elbow  and  a  counsel  at 
the  other. 

From  minds  thus  subdued  by  the  terrors  of  punishment  there 
could  issue  no  works  of  genius  to  expand  the  empire  of  human 
reason,  nor  any  masterly  compositions  on  the  general  nature  of 
government,  by  the  help  of  which  the  great  commonwealths  of 
mankind  have  founded  their  establishments;  much  less  any  of 
those  useful  applications  of  them  to  critical  conjunctures  by  which, 
from  time  to  time,  our  own  Constitution,  by  the  exertion  of  patriot 
citizens,  has  been  brought  back  to  its  standard.  Under  such  ter- 
rors, all  the  great  lights  of  science  and  civilization  must  be  ex- 
tinguished; for  men  cannot  communicate  their  free  thoughts  to 
one  another  with  a  lash  held  over  their  heads.  It  is  the  nature  of 
everything  that  is  great  and  useful,  both  in  the  animate  and  inani- 
mate world,  to  be  wild  and  irregular;  and  we  must  be  contented 
to  take  them  with  the  alloys  which  belong  to  them,  or  live  with- 
out them.  Genius  breaks  from  the  fetters  of  criticism;  but  its 
wanderings  are  sanctioned  by  its  majesty  and  wisdom  when  it 
advances  in  its  path.  Subject  it  to  the  critic,  and  you  tame  it  into 
dullness.  Mighty  rivers  break  down  their  banks  in  the  winter, 
sweeping  away  to  death  the  flocks  which  are  fattened  on  the  soil 
that  they  fertilize  in  the  summer;  the  few  may  be  saved  by 
embankments  from  drowning,  but  the  flock  must  perish  of  hunger. 
Tempests  occasionally  shake  our  dwellings  and  dissipate  our  com- 
merce, but  they  scourge  before  them  the  lazy  elements  which, 
without  them,  would  stagnate  into  pestilence.  In  like  manner 
Liberty  herself,  the  last  and  best  gift  of  God  to  His  creatures, 
must  be  taken  just  as  she  is;  you  might  pare  her  down  into  bash- 
ful regularity,  and  shape  her  into  a  perfect  model  of  severe,  scrup- 
ulous law,  but  she  would  then  be  Liberty  no  longer ;  and  you  must 
be  content  to  die  under  the  lash  of  this  inexorable  justice  which 
you  had  exchanged  for  the  banners  of  Freedom. 

Upon  the  principle  on  which  the  Attorney-General  prays  sen- 
tence upon  my  client  —  God  have  mercy  upon  us!  Instead  of 
standing  before  him  in  judgment  with  the  hopes  and  consolations 
of  Christians,  we  must  call  upon  the  mountains  to  cover  us;  for 
which  of  us  can  present,  for  omniscient  examination,  a  pure,  un- 
spotted, and  faultless  course?  But  I  humbly  expect  that  the  be- 
nevolent Author  of  our  being  will  judge  us  as  I  have  been  point- 
ing out  for  your  example.     Holding  up  the  great  volume  of  our 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  317 

lives  in  His  hands,  and  regarding  the  general  scope  of  them  —  if 
He  discovers  benevolence,  charity  and  good-will  to  man  beating  in 
the  heart,  where  He  alone  can  look ;  if  He  finds  that  our  conduct, 
though  often  forced  out  of  the  path  by  our  infirmities,  has  been  in 
general  well  directed,  His  all-searching  eye  will  assuredly  never 
pursue  us  into  those  little  corners  of  our  lives,  much  less  will  His 
justice  select  them  for  punishment  without  the  general  context 
of  our  existence,  by  which  faults  may  be  sometimes  found  to  have 
grown  out  of  virtues,  and  very  many  of  our  heaviest  offenses  to 
have  been  grafted  by  human  imperfection  upon  the  best  and  kind- 
est of  our  affections.  No,  gentlemen,  believe  me,  this  is  not  the 
course  of  divine  justice,  or  there  is  no  truth  in  the  gospels  of 
heaven.  If  the  general  tenor  of  a  man's  conduct  be  such  as  I  have 
represented  it,  he  may  walk  through  the  shadow  of  death,  with  all 
his  faults  about  him,  with  as  much  cheerfulness  as  in  the  common 
paths  of  life;  because  he  knows  that,  instead  of  a  stern  accuser  to 
expose  before  the  Author  of  his  nature  those  frail  passages  which, 
like  the  scored  matter  in  the  book  before  you,  checker  the  volume 
of  the  brightest  and  best  spent  life.  His  mercy  will  obscure  them 
from  the  eye  of  His  purity,  and  our  repentance  will  blot  them  out 
forever. 

—  Lord  Erskine. 


THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  JOAN  OF  ARC 

At  the  time  of  Joan  of  Arc's  appearance  In  history,  France  had  become 
a  province  of  En^l^d,  the  great  city  of  Orleans  had  beenfb'r'*a  year  in  a 
state  of  siege,  the  people  were  suffering  incredible  hardships,  and  the 
Dauphlnjjvho  had  not  yet  been  crowned,  was  about  to  give  up  the  struggle  in 
despair.  The  young  peasant  girl  from  Domremy,  who  seemed  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  patriotic  fervor,  made  her  way~to  the  court,  rekindled  the 
national  pride,  and  proceeding  to_^jleans  at  tHF~Kea^  oJ^fSe- French.  troopSj^ 
raised  ^e^ijege.  and  en.te4-e4- in' lTH*mph.^  After  other  victories,  she  con- 
ductedmeking  to  Rheims,  where  he  was  solemnly  crowned.  Then,  feeling 
that  her  mission  was  ended,  she  begged  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  her  native 
village.  But  in  vain.  Her  sen^ices  were  still  demanded,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  enter  upon  more  than  one  military  plan  which  she  did  not  approve. 
Many  misfortunes  followed,  till  at  last  she  was  captured  by  the  Burgundians,^ 
who  basely  surrendered  her  to  thue  English.  '~''        **"  '"" 

Her  trial  was  "conducted  by  the  Bishopof  Beauvajs,  a  Frenchman  who 
was  sold  to  English  interests,  and  who  hoped,  by  favor  of  the  English  leaders, 
iK)  reach  the  highest  preleraicnt.     From  beginning  to  end  the  proceedings 


318  CHOICE  READINGS 

were  barbarously  cruel  and  unjust.     Fin^lly^the  innocent  young  Maid  of 
Orleans  was  condemned  as  a  witch^  and  sentenced  to  be  burned  at  the  stake. 

On  the  Wednesday  after  Trinity  Sunday  in  143 1,. being  then 
about  nineteen  years  of  age,  the  Maid  of  Arc  underwent  her 
n^^yrdom?  She  waTcoMncted  before  midday,  guarded  by  eight 
hun3reJ"spearmen,  to  a  platform  of  prodigious  height,  constructed 
of  wooden  billets  supported  by  occasional  walls  of  lath  and  plas- 
ter, and  traversed  by_hollow  spaces  in  every  direction  for  the 
creation  of  air-currents.  "Ten  thousand 'men,*^'iays  M.  Miche- 
let  himself,  *'  terohousaiid^men  wept;  "  and  of  these  ten  thousand, 
the  majorijty  were  political  ^enemies  knitted  together  by  cords  of 
sugerstitjion.  What  else  was  it  but  her  constajpcy,  united  with  her 
angelic_^ntleness,  that  drove  the  fanatic  English  soldier  —  who 
had  sworn  to  throw  a  faggot  on^  her  scaffold  —  suddenly  to  turn 
away,  a  penitentfqrjife,  saying  everywhere  that  he  had  seen  a 
doye^  rising  upon  v^ingsJLo Jieaven  from  the  ashes  where  she  had 
stood?  What  else  drove  the  executioner  to  kneel  at  every  shrine 
for  pardon  to_^  share  in  the  traged)^?  And  if  all  this  were  in- 
sufficient, then  I  cite  the  closing  aet-^-Jien-Jiie,  as  valid  on  her 
behalf,  were  all  other^  testimonies  against  her.  The  executioner 
had  been  directed  to  apply  his  torch  from  beto^.  He  did  so.  The 
fiery  smoke  rose  upwards_ia_  billowing  volumes.  A  Dominican 
monk  was  then  standing  almost  atjher  side. ^Wrapped  up  in  his 
sublime  office,  he  savi^  not  the  dariger,,  iuit  still  persisted  in  his 
prayers.  Even  then,  when  the  last  enemy  was  racing  up  the  fiery 
stairs  to  seize  her,  even  at  that  moment  did  thij^  noblest  of  girls 
think  only  for  hjm,  the  one  friend  that  would  not  forsake  her,  and 
not_for  herseli;  bidding  him  with  her  last  breath  to  care  for  his 
own  preservation,  but^to  leave  her  to  God.  That  girl,  whose  latest 
breath  ascended  in  this  siihliBie.^^expression  of  seli::oblivion,  did,, 
not  utter  the  word  recqjit  either  witli  "her  lips  orin  her  heart.   No/ 

she  did  nqj:,  thoijgh  one  shoyld. rise, from  the  dead  to  swear  it. 
* '       *         *         *         *         *"~  ^ 

Bishop  of  Beauvais!  thy  victim  died  in  fire  upon  a  scaffold, — 
thou  upon  a  down  bed.  But  for  the  departing  minutes  of  life, 
both  are  oftentimes  alike.  At  the  farewell  crisis,  when  the  gates  of 
death  are  opening  and  flesh  is  resting  from  its  struggles,  oftentimes 
the  tortured  and  torturer  have  the  same  truce  from  carnal  torment ; 
both  sink  together  into  sleep;  together  both,  sometimes,  kindle 
into  dreams.     When  the  mortal  mists  were  gathering  fast  upon 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  319 

you  two,  bishop  and  shepherd  girl  —  when  the  pavilions  of  life 
were  closing  up  their  shadowy  curtains  about  you  —  let  us  try, 
through  the  gigantic  glooms,  to  decipher  the  flying  features  of  your 
separate  visions. 

The  shepherd  girl  that  had  delivered  France  —  she  from  her 
dungeon,  she,  from  her  baiting  at  the  stake,  she,  from  her  duel 
with  fire,  as  she  entered  her  last  dream  —  saw  Domremy,  saw  the 
fountain  of  Domremy,  saw  the  pomp  of  forests  in  which  her  child- 
hood had  wandered.  The  Easter  festival,  which  man  had  denied 
to  her  languishing  heart  —  that  resurrection  of  springtime,  which 
the  darkness  of  dungeons  had  intercepted  from  her,  hungering 
after  the  glorious  liberty  of  forests  —  were  by  God  given  back 
into  her  hands,  as  jewels  that  had  been  stolen  from  her  by  robbers. 
With  those,  perhaps  (for  the  minutes  of  dreams  can  stretch  into 
ages),  was  given  back  to  her  by  God  the  bliss  of  childhood.  By 
special  privilege,  for  her  might  be  created,  in  this  farewell  dream, 
a  second  childhood,  innocent  as  the  first;  but  not,  like  that,  sad 
with  the  gloom  of  a  fearful  mission  in  the  rear.  JjThe  mission  had 
now  been  fulfilled.  The  storm  was  weathered,  the  skirts  even  of 
that  mighty  storm  were  drawing  oH,  The  blood  that  she  was  to 
reckon  for  had  been  exacted ;  the  tears  that  she  was  to  shed  in  se- 
cret had  been  paid  to  the  last.  The  hatred  to  herself  .in  all  eyesjiad 
been  faced  steadily,  had  been  suffered,  had  beeji^  survived.  And  in 
her  lasFfight  upon  the. scaffold  she  had  triumphed  gloriously;  vic- 
toriously she  had  tasted  the  stings  of  death.  For  all,  except  this 
comfort  from  her  farewell  dream,  she  had  died  —  died,  amidst^ 
the  tears  of  ten  thousand^  enemies— :: died,  amidsF the  3rums  .and 
trumpets  of  armiesj^  died,  amidst  peals  redoubling  upon  peals, 
voiles  uponj^dleys,  from  the  saluting  clarions  of  martyrs.     /    j 

Eiishop~of  Beauvais!  yoii  3s6,  entering  your  finar"dreanT,^s2tw 
Domremy.  That  fountain,  of  which  the  witnesses  spoke  so  much, 
showed  itself  to  your  eyes  in  pure  morning  dews ;  but  neither  dews, 
nor  the  holy  dawn  could  cleanse  away  the  bright  spots  of  innocent 
blood  upon  its  surface.  By  the  fountain.  Bishop,  you  saw  a  woman 
seated,  that  hid  her  face.  But  as  you  draw  near,  the  woman  raises 
her  wasted  features.  Would  Domremy  know  them  again  for  the 
features  of  her  child?  Ah,  but  you  know  them.  Bishop,  well!  Oh, 
mercy !  what  a  groan  was  that  which  the  servants,  waiting  outside 
the  Bishop's  dream  at  his  bedside,  heard  from  his  laboring  heart, 
as  at  this  moment  he  turned  away  from  the  fountain  and  the 


820  CHOICE  READINGS 

woman,  seeking  rest  in  the  forests  afar  oif.  Yet  not  so  to  escape 
the  woman,  whom  once  again  he  must  behold  before  he  dies.  In 
the  forests  to  which  he  prays  for  pity,  will  be  find  a  respite  ?  What 
a  tumult,  what  a  gathering  of  feet  is  there!  In  glades,  where 
only  wild  deer  should  run,  armies  and  nations  are  assembling; 
towering  in  the  fluctuating  crowd  are  phantoms  that  belong  to 
departed  hours.  There  is  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  clinging  to  the 
shelter  of  thickets.  What  building  is  that  which  hands  so  rapid 
are  raising?  Is  it  a  martyr's  scaffold?  Will  they  burn  the  child 
of  Domremy  a  second  time  ?  No :  it  is  a  tribunal  that  rises  to  the 
clouds;  and  two  nations  stand  around  it,  waiting  for  a  trial. 
Shall  my  Lord  of  Beauvais  sit  again  upon  the  judgment  seat,  and 
again  number  the  hours  for  the  innocent?  Ah!  no:  he  is  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar.  Already  all  is  waiting:  the  mighty  audience 
is  gathered,  the  Court  is  hurrying  to  their  seats,  the  witnesses  are 
arrayed,  the  trumpets  are  sounding,  the  judge  is  taking  his  place. 
Oh !  but  this  is  sudden.  My  lord,  have  you  no  counsel  ?  **  Coun- 
sel I  have  none:  in  heaven  above,  or  on  earth  beneath,  counselor 
there  is  none  now  that  would  take  a  brief  from  me:  all  are  silent." 
Is  it,  indeed,  come  to  this?  Alas,  the  time  is  short,  the  tumult  is 
wondrous,  the  crowd  stretches  away  into  infinity,  but  yet  I  will 
search  in  it  for  somebody  to  take  your  brief:  I  know  of  somebody 
that  will  be  your  counsel.  Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Dom-^ 
remy?  Who  is  she  in  bloody  coronation  robes  from  Rheims? 
Who  is  she  that  cometh  with  blackened  flesh  from  walking  the 
furnaces  of  Rouen?  This  is  she,  the  shepherd  girl,  counselor  that 
had  none  for  herself,  whom  I  choose.  Bishop,  for  yours.  She  it 
IS,  I  engage,  that  shall  take  my  lord's  brief.  She  it  is.  Bishop,  that 
would  plead  for  you;  yes,  Bishop,  she  —  when  heaven  and  earth 
are  silent. 

—  Thomas  De  Quincey. 


THE  APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  VOLUNTEERS 

This  oration  was  delivered  at  the  time  of  the  threatened  invasion  of  Eng- 
land by  France,  under  Napoleon.  E.  Paxton  Hood,  Robert  Hall's  biographer, 
writes  as  follows: 

"  At  the  time  these  words  were  pronounced,  the  entire  country  might  be 
said  to  be  waiting  breathless  with  anxiety.  About  this  time  it  was  that  Na- 
poleon struck  the  famous  medal,  'London  taken,   1804.*     His  armies  were 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  321 

spread  all  alojig  the  heights  of  Boulogne,  waiting  for  the  fleet  which  was  to 
land  them  on  our  shores.  *  *  *  Ours  was  the  only  unconquered  piece  of 
territory  worth  conquering  in  Europe.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  last  great  gasp  of 
patriotism  our  country  ever  felt.  Another  such  occasion  has  never  occurred, 
we  pray  that  it  never  may !  " 

From  the  most  fixed  principles  of  human  nature,  as  well  as 
from  the  examples  of  all  history,  we  may  be  certain  the  conquest 
of  this  country,  should  it  be  permitted  to  take  place,  will  not  ter- 
minate in  any  ordinary  catastrophe,  in  any  much  less  calamitous 
than  utter  extermination.  Our  present  elevation  will  be  the 
exact  measure  of  our  future  depression,  as  it  will  measure  the  fears 
and  jealousies  of  those  who  subdue  us.  While  the  smallest  vestige 
remains  of  our  former  greatness,  while  any  trace  or  memorial 
exists  of  our  having  been  once  a  flourishing  and  independent  em- 
pire, while  the  nation  breathes,  they  will  be  afraid  of  its  recover- 
ing its  strength,  and  never  think  themselves  secure  of  their  con- 
quest till  our  navy  is  consumed,  our  wealth  dissipated,  our  com- 
merce extinguished,  every  liberal  institution  abolished,  our  nobles 
extirpated;  whatever  in  rank,  character,  and  talents  gives  distinc- 
tion in  society,  called  out  and  destroyed,  and  the  refuse  which  re- 
mains swept  together  mto  a  putrefying  heap  by  the  besom  of 
destruction.  The  enemy  will  not  need  to  proclaim  his  triumph; 
it  will  be  felt  In  the  most  expressive  silence  of  extended  desolation. 

To  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the  duties  of  this  crisis,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  raise  your  minds  to  a  level  with  your  station,  to  ex- 
tend your  views  to  a  distant  futurity,  and  to  consequences  the  most 
certain,  though  most  remote.  By  a  series  of  criminal  enterprises, 
by  the  successes  of  guilty  ambition,  the  liberties  of  Europe  have 
been  gradually  extinguished:  the  subjugation  of  Holland,  Swit- 
zerland, and  the  free  towns  of  Germany,  has  completed  that 
catastrophe;  and  we  are  the  only  people  in  the  eastern  hemisphere, 
who  are  in  the  possession  of  equal  laws  and  a  free  constitution. 
Freedom,  driven  from  every  spot  on  the  Continent,  has  sought 
an  asylum  In  a  country  which  she  always  chose  for  her  favorite 
abode;  but  she  Is  pursued  even  here,  and  threatened  with  de- 
struction. The  inundation  of  lawless  power,  after  covering  the 
whole  earth,  threatens  to  follow  us  here;  and  we  are  most  exactly, 
most  critically  placed.  In  the  only  aperture  where  it  can  be  suc- 
cessfully repelled,  In  the  Thermopylae  of  the  universe.  As  far  as 
the  interests  of  freedom  are  concerned,  the  most  important  by  far 


822  CHOICE  READINGS 

of  sublunary  interests,  you,  my  countrymen,  stand  in  the  capacity 
of  the  federal  representatives  of  the  human  race;  for  with  you 
it  is  to  determine  (under  God)  in  what  condition  the  latest 
posterity  shall  be  born:  their  fortunes  are  entrusted  to  your  care, 
and  on  your  conduct  at  this  moment  depends  the  color  and  com- 
plexion of  their  destiny.  If  liberty,  after  being  extinguished  on 
the  Continent,  is  suffered  to  expire  here,  whence  is  it  ever  to 
emerge  in  the  midst  of  that  thick  night  that  will  invest  it?  It 
remains  with  you,  then,  to  decide  whether  that  freedom,  at  whose 
voice  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  awoke  from  the  sleep  of  ages,  to 
run  a  career  of  virtuous  emulation  in  everything  great  and  good; 
the  freedom  which  dispelled  the  mists  of  superstition,  and  invited 
the  nations  to  behold  their  God;  whose  magic  touch  kindled  the 
rays  of  genius,  the  enthusiasm  of  poetry,  and  the  flame  of  elo- 
quence; the  freedom  which  poured  into  our  lap  opulence  and  arts, 
and  embellished  life  with  innumerable  institutions  and  improve- 
ments, till  it  became  a  theater  of  wonders;  it  is  for  you  to  decide 
whether  this  freedom  shall  yet  survive,  or  be  covered  with  a 
funeral  pall  and  wrapt  in  eternal  gloom.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  await  your  determination.  In  the  solicitude  you  feel  to  prove 
yourselves  worthy  of  such  a  trust,  every  thought  of  what  is  afflict- 
ing in  warfare,  every  apprehension  of  danger  must  vanish,  and 
you  are  impatient  to  mingle  in  the  battle  of  the  civilized  world. 

While  you  have  everything  to  fear  from  the  success  of  the 
enemy,  you  have  every  means  of  preventing  that  success,  so  that 
it  is  next  to  impossible  for  victory  not  to  crown  your  exertions. 
The  extent  of  your  resources,  under  God,  is  equal  to  the  justice 
of  your  cause.  But  should  Providence  determine  otherwise,  should 
you  fall  in  this  struggle,  should  the  nation  fall,  you  will  have  the 
satisfaction  —  the  purest  allotted  to  man  —  of  having  performed 
your  part;  your  names  will  be  enrolled  with  the  most  illustrious 
dead,  while  posterity,  to  the  end  of  time,  as  often  as  they  revolve 
the  events  of  this  period,  will  turn  to  you  a  reverential  eye.  I 
cannot  but  imagine  that  virtuous  heroes,  legislators,  and  patriots, 
of  every  age  and  country,  are  bending  from  their  elevated  seats 
to  witness  this  contest,  as  if  they  were  incapable,  till  it  be  brought 
to  a  favorable  issue,  of  enjoying  their  eternal  repose.  Enjoy  that 
repose,  illustrious  immortals!  Your  mantle  fell  when  you 
ascended;  and  thousands  inflamed  with  your  spirits,  and  im- 
patient to  tread  in  your  steps,  are  ready  to  swear  by  Him  that 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  323 

sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  liveth  for  ever  and  ever,  they  will 
protect  freedom  in  her  last  asylum,  and  never  desert  that  cause 
which  you  sustained  by  your  labors,  and  cemented  with  your 
blood.  And  Thou,  sole  Ruler  among  the  children  of  men,  to 
whom  the  shields  of  the  earth  belong,  gird  on  Thy  sword.  Thou 
most  mighty:  go  forth  with  our  hosts  in  the  day  of  battle!  Im- 
part, in  addition  to  their  hereditary  valor,  that  confidence  of  suc- 
cess which  springs  from  Thy  presence!  Pour  into  their  hearts 
the  spirit  of  departed  heroes !  Inspire  them  with  Thine  own ;  and, 
while  led  by  Thine  hand,  and  fighting  under  Thy  banners,  open 
Thou  their  eyes  to  behold  in  every  valley,  and  in  every  plain, 
what  the  prophet  beheld  by  the  same  illumination  —  charwts  of 
fire,  and  horses  of  fire!  *'  Then  shall  the  strong  man  be  as  tow, 
and  the  maker  of  it  as  a  spark;  and  they  shall  both  burn  together, 

und  none  shall  quench  them," 

****** 

—  Robert  HalL 


EULOGY  ON  CHARLES  SUMNER 

At  the  opening  of  the  session  in  the  fall  of  1872,  Mr.  Sum- 
ner introduced  two  measures  which,  as  he  thought,  should  com- 
plete the  record  of  his  political  life.  One  was  his  Civil  Ri^ts 
Bill,  and  the  other,  a  resolution  providing  that  the  names  of  the 
battles  won  over  fellow-citizens  in  the  war  of  the  Rebellion, 
should  be  removed  from  the  regimental  colors  of  the  army,  and 
from  the  army  register.  This  resolution  called  forth  a  new  storm 
against  him.  It  was  denounced  as  an  insult  to  the  heroic  soldiers 
of  the  Union,  and  a  degradation  of  their  victories  and  well-earned 
laurels.     It  was  condemned  as  an  unpatriotic  act. 

Charles  Sumner  insult  the  soldiers  who  had  spilled  their  blood 
in  a  war  for  human  rights!  Charles  Sumner  degrade  victories 
and  depreciate  laurels  won  for  the  cause  of  universal  freedom! 
How  strange  an  imputation! 

Let  the  dead  man  have  a  hearing.  This  was  his  thought:  No 
civilized  nation,  from  the  republics  of  antiquity  down  to  our 
days,  ever  thought  it  wise  or  patriotic  to  preserve  in  conspicuous 
and  durable  form  the  mementoes  of  victories  won  over  fellow- 
citizens  in  civil  war.    Why  not? 

Because  every  citizen  should  feel  himself  with  all  others  ay 


824  CHOICE  READINGS 

the  child  of  a  common  country,  and  not  as  a  defeated  foe.  All 
civilized  governments  of  our  days  have  instinctively  followed  the 
same  dictate  of  wisdom  and  patriotism.  The  Irishman,  when 
fighting  for  old  England  at  Waterloo,  was  not  to  behold  on  the 
red  cross  floating  above  him  the  name  of  the  Boyne.  The  Scotch 
Highlander,  when  standing  in  the  trenches  of  Sebastopol,  was  not 
by  the  colors  of  his  regiment  to  be  reminded  of  Culloden.  No 
French  soldier  at  Austerlitz  or  Solferino  had  to  read  upon  the  tri- 
color any  reminiscence  of  the  Vendee.  No  Hungarian  at  Sadowa 
w^as  taunted  by  any  Austrian  banner  v^ith  the  surrender  of  Vil- 
lagos.  No  German  regiment,  from  Saxony  or  Hanover,  charging 
under  the  iron  hail  of  Gravelotte,  was  made  to  remember  by  words 
written  on  a  Prussian  standard  that  the  black  eagle  had  conquered 
them  at  Koniggratz  and  Langensalza.  Should  the  son  of  South 
Carolina,  when  at  some  future  day  defending  the  Republic  against 
some  foreign  foe,  be  reminded  by  an  inscription  on  the  colors 
floating  over  him,  that  under  this  flag  the  gun  v^as  fired  that 
killed  his  father  at  Gettysburg?  Should  this  great  and  enlight- 
ened Republic,  proud  of  standing  in  the  front  of  human  progress, 
be  less  wise,  less  large-hearted,  than  the  ancients  were  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  the  kingly  governments  of  Europe  are  to- 
day? Let  the  battle-flags  of  the  brave  volunteers,  which  they 
brought  home  from  the  war  with  the  glorious  record  of  their 
victories,  be  preserved  intact  as  a  proud  ornament  of  our  state- 
houses  and  armories.  But  let  the  colors  of  the  army,  under  w^hich 
the  sons  of  all  the  States  are  to  meet  and  mingle  in  common 
patriotism,  speak  of  nothing  but  union, —  not  a  union  of  conquer- 
ors and  conquered,  but  a  union  which  is  the  mother  of  all,  equally 
tender  to  all,  knowing  of  nothing  but  equality,  peace  and  love 
among  her  children. 

Such  were  the  sentiments  which  inspired  that  resolution.  Such 
were  the  sentiments  which  called  forth  a  storm  of  obloquy.  Such 
were  the  sentiments  for  which  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts 
passed  a  solemn  resolution  of  censure  upon  Charles  Sumner, — 
Massachusetts,  his  own  Massachusetts,  whom  he  loved  so  ardently 
with  a  filial  love, —  of  whom  he  was  so  proud,  who  had  honored 
him  so  much  in  days  gone  by,  and  whom  he  had  so  long  and  so 
faithfully  labored  to  serve  and  to  honor! 

How  thankful  I  am,  how  thankful  every  human  soul  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, how  thankful  every  American  must  be,  that  he  did 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  325 

not  die  then!  How  thankful  that  he  was  spared  to  see  the  day 
when  the  heart  of  Massachusetts  came  back  to  him  full  of  the  old 
love  and  confidence,  assuring  him  that  he  would  again  be  her 
chosen  son  for  her  representative  seat  in  the  House  of  States;  — 
when  the  lawgivers  of  the  old  commonwealth,  obeying  an  ir- 
resistible impulse  of  justice,  wiped  away  from  the  records  of  the 
Legislature,  and  from  the  fair  name  of  the  State,  that  resolution 
of  censure  which  had  stung  him  so  deeply. 

Now  we  have  laid  him  into  his  grave,  in  the  motherly  soil  of 
Massachusetts,  which  was  so  dear  to  him.  He  is  at  rest  now,  the 
stalwart,  brave  old  champion,  whose  face  and  bearing  were  so 
austere,  and  whose  heart  was  so  full  of  tenderness;  who  began  his 
career  with  a  pathetic  plea  for  universal  peace  and  charity,  and 
whose  whole  life  was  an  arduous,  incessant,  never-resting  strug- 
gle, which  left  him  all  covered  with  scars.  And  we  can  do  noth- 
ing for  him  but  commemorate  his  lofty  ideals  of  liberty  and 
equality,  and  justice,  and  reconciliation,  and  purity,  and  the 
earnestness  and  courage  and  touching  fidelity  with  which  he 
fought  for  them;  so  genuine  in  his  sincerity,  so  single-minded  in 
his  zeal,  so  heroic  in  his  devotion. 

—  Carl  Schurz. 


IDOLS 

It  IS  a  grave  thing  when  a  State  puts  a  man  among  her  jew- 
els, the  glitter  of  whose  fame  makes  doubtful  acts  look  heroic. 
The  honors  we  grant  mark  how  high  we  stand,  and  they  educate 
the  future.  The  men  we  honor  and  the  maxims  we  lay  down 
in  measuring  our  favorities,  show  the  level  and  morals  of  the  time. 
A  name  has  been  in  every  one's  mouth  of  late,  and  men  have  ex- 
hausted language  in  trying  to  express  their  admiration  and  their 
respect.  The  courts  have  covered  the  grave  of  Mr.  Choate  with 
eulogy.  Let  us  see  what  is  their  idea  of  a  great  lawyer.  We  are 
told  that  **he  worked  hard,"  "he  never  neglected  his  client,'' 
"  he  flung  over  the  discussions  of  the  forum  the  grace  of  a  rare 
scholarship,"  "  no  pressure  or  emergency  ever  stirred  him  to  an 
unkind  word."  A  ripe  scholar,  a  profound  lawyer,  a  faithful 
servant  of  his  client,  a  gentleman.  This  is  a  good  record  surely. 
May  he  sleep  in  peace.  What  he  earned,  God  grant  he  may  have. 
But  the  bar  that  seeks  to  claim  for  such  a  one  a  place  among  great 


326  CHOICE  READINGS 

jurists  must  itself  be  weak  indeed.  Not  one  high  moral  trait 
specified;  not  one  patriotic  act  mentioned;  not  one  patriotic  serv- 
ice even  claimed.  Look  at  Mr.  Webster's  idea  of  what  a  lawyer 
should  be  in  order  to  be  called  great,  in  the  sketch  he  drew  of 
Jeremiah  Mason,  and  notice  what  stress  he  lays  upon  the  religious 
and  moral  elevation,  and  the  glorious  and  high  purposes  which 
crown  his  life.  Nothing  of  this  now;  nothing  but  incessant 
eulogy.  But  not  a  word  or  one  effort  to  lift  the  yoke  of  cruel  or 
unequal  legislation  from  the  neck  of  its  victim;  not  one  attempt 
to  make  the  code  of  his  country  wiser,  purer,  better;  not  one  ef- 
fort to  bless  his  times  or  breathe  a  higher  moral  purpose  into  the 
community.  Not  one  blow  struck  for  right  or  for  liberty,  while 
the  battle  of  the  giants  was  going  on  about  him;  not  one  patri- 
otic act  to  stir  the  hearts  of  his  idolaters;  not  one  public  act  of 
any  kind  whatever  about  whose  merit  friend  or  foe  could  evea 
quarrel,  unless  when  he  scouted  our  great  charter  as  a  glittering 
generality,  or  jeered  at  the  philanthropy  which  tried  to  practice 
the  sermon  on  the  mount. 

When  Cordus,  the  Roman  senator,  whom  Tiberius  murdered, 
was  addressing  his  fellows  he  began :  **  Fathers,  they  accuse  me  of 
illegal  words;  plain  proof  that  there  are  no  illegal  deeds  with 
which  to  charge  me."  So  with  those  eulogies.  Words,  nothing 
but  words;  plain  proof  that  there  were  no  deeds  to  praise.  Yet 
this  is  the  model  which  Massachusetts  offers  to  the  Pantheon  of 
the  great  jurists  of  the  world! 

Suppose  we  stood  in  that  lofty  temple  of  jurisprudence, —  on 
either  side  of  us  the  statues  of  the  great  lawyers  of  every  age  and 
clime, —  and  let  us  see  what  part  New  England  —  Puritan,  edu- 
cated, free  New  England  —  would  bear  in  the  pageant. 

Rome  points  to  a  colossal  figure  and  says,  "  That  is  Papinian, 
who,  when  the  Emperor  Caracalla  murdered  his  own  brother, 
and  ordered  the  lawyer  to  defend  the  deed,  went  cheerfully  to 
death,  rather  than  sully  his  lips  with  the  atrocious  plea;  and  that 
is  Ulpian,  who,  aiding  his  prince  to  put  the  army  below  the  law, 
was  massacred  at  the  foot  of  a  weak  but  virtuous  throne.^' 

And  France  stretches  forth  her  grateful  hands,  crying,  **  That 
is  D'Aguesseau,  worthy,  when  he  went  to  face  an  enraged  king, 
of  the  farewell  his  wife  addressed  him :  *  Go,  forget  that  you  have 
a  wife  and  children  to  ruin,  and  remember  only  that  you  have 
France  to  save.'  " 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  3^ 

England  says:  "  That  is  Coke,  who  flung  the  laurels  of  eighty 
years  in  the  face  of  the  first  Stuart,  in  defense  of  the  people. 
This  is  Selden,  on  every  book  of  whose  library  you  saw  written 
the  motto  of  which  he  lived  worthy,  '  Before  everything,  liberty!  *' 
That  is  Mansfield,  silver-tongued,  who  proclaimed,  *  Slaves  can- 
not breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs  receive  our  air,  that  mo- 
ment they  are  free/ 

"This  is  Romily,  who  spent  life  trying  to  make  law  synony- 
mous with  justice,  and  succeeded  in  making  life  and  property 
safer  in  every  city  of  the  empire.  And  that  is  Erskine,  whose 
eloquence,  spite  of  Lord  Eldon  and  George  the  Third,  made  it 
safe  to  speak  and  to  print/^ 

Then  New  England  shouts,  "  This  is  Choate,  who  made  it 
safe  to  murder,  and  of  whose  health  thieves  asked  before  they 
began  to  steal !  "     . 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 


TOUSSAINT  UOUVERTURE         ^ 

Some  doubt  the  courage  of  the  negro.  Go  to  Hayti  and  stand 
on  those  fifty  thousand  graves  of  the  best  soldiers  France  ever  had, 
and  ask  them  what  they  think  of  the  negro's  sword.  And  if  that 
does  not  satisfy  you,  go  to  France,  to  the  splendid  mausoleum  of 
the  Counts  of  Rochambeau,  and  to  the  eight  thousand  graves  of 
Frenchmen  who  skulked  home  under  the  English  flag,  and  ask 
them.  And  if  that  does  not  satisfy  you,  come  home,  and  if  it 
had  been  October,  1859,  you  might  have  come  by  way  of  quaking 
Virginia,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  negro  courage. 

You  may  also  remember  this, —  that  we  Saxons  were  slaves 
about  four  hundred  years,  sold  with  the  land,  and  our  fathers 
never  raised  a  finger  to  end  that  slavery.  They  waited  till  Chris- 
tianity and  civilization,  till  commerce  and  the  discovery  of  Amer- 
ica melted  away  their  chains.  Every  race  has  been,  some  time 
or  other,  in  chains.  But  there  never  was  a  race  that,  weakened 
and  degraded  by  siich  chattel  slavery,  ftiiaided,^  tore  off  its  own 
fetters,  forged  them  into  swords,  and  won  its  liberty  on  the  bat- 
tle-field, but  one,  and  that  was  the  black  race  of  St.  Domingo. 

So  much  for  the  courage  of  the  negro.  Now  look  at  his 
endurance.  In  1805  he  said  to  the  white  men,  "This  island  is 
ours;  not  a  white  foot  shall  touch  it."     Side  by  side  with  him 


328  CHOICE  READINGS 

stood  the  South  American  republics,  planted  by  the  best  blood  of 
the  countrymen  of  Lope  de  Vega  and  Cervantes.  They  topple 
over  so  often  that  you  could  no  more  daguerreotype  their  crum- 
bling fragments  than  you  could  the  waves  of  the  ocean.  And  yetj 
at  their  side,  the  negro  has  kept  his  island  sacredly  to  himself. 
Burn  over  New  York  to-night,  fill  up  her  canals,  sink  every  ship, 
destroy  her  railroads,  blot  out  every  remnant  of  education  from 
her  sons;  let  her  be  ignorant  and  penniless,  with  nothing  but  her 
hands  to  begin  the  world  again, —  how  much  could  she  do  in 
sixty  years?  And  Europe,  too,  would  lend  you  money,  but  she 
will  not  lend  Hayti  a  dollar.  Hayti,  from  the  ruins  of  her 
colonial  dependence,  is  become  a  civilized  state,  the  seventh  na- 
tion in  the  catalogue  of  commerce  with  this  country,  inferior  in 
morals  and  education  to  none  of  the  West  Indian  isles.  Tous- 
saint  L'Ouverture  made  her  what  she  is.  Toussaint  was  indis- 
putably their  chief.  Courage,  purpose,  endurance, —  these  are 
the  tests.  He  did  plant  a  state  so  deep  that  all  the  world  has  not 
been  able  to  root  it  up. 

Now,  blue-eyed  Saxon,  proud  of  your  race,  go  back  with  me 
to  the  commencement  of  the  century,  and  select  what  statesman 
you  please.  Let  him  be  either  American  or  European;  let  him 
have  a  brain  the  result  of  six  generations  of  culture;  let  him  have 
the  ripest  training  of  university  routine;  let  him  add  to  it  the 
better  education  of  practical  life;  crown  his  temples  with  the 
silver  of  seventy  years,  and  show  me  the  man  of  Saxon  lineage 
for  whom  his  most  sanguine  admirer  will  wreathe  a  laurel  rich 
as  embittered  foes  have  placed  on  the  brow  of  this  negro. 

I  would  call  him  Napoleon,  but  Napoleon  made  his  way  to 
empire  over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of  blood.  This  man 
never  broke  his  word.  I  would  call  him  Cromwell,  but  Crom- 
well was  only  a  soldier,  and  the  state  he  founded  went  down 
with  him  into  his  grave.  I  would  call  him  Washington,  but  the 
great  Virginian  held  slaves.  This  man  risked  his  empire  rather 
than  permit  the  slave-trade  in  the  humblest  village  of  his  do- 
minions. ,   ^  ,\ 

You  think  me  a  fanatic  to-night,   for  you  read  history  not 
with  your  eyes,  but  with  your  prejudices.     But  fifty  years  hence, 
when  Truth  gets  a  hearing,  the  Muse  of  History  will  put  Phjcion ' 
for  the  Greek,  and  Brutus  for  the  Roman,  Hampden  for  Eng- 
land, Lafayette  for  France,  choose  Washington  as  the  bright,  con- 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  329 

summate  flower  of  our  earlier  civilization,  and  John  Brown  the 
ripe  fruit  of  our  noon-day;  then,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight, 
will  write  in  the  clear  blue,  above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  sol- 
dier, the  statesman,  the  martyr,  Toussaint  L'Ouverture. 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 


IMPEACHMENT  OF  WARREN  HASTINGS 

My  Lords,  you  have  now  heard  the  principles  on  which  Mr. 
Hastings  governs  the  part  of  Asia  subjected  to  the  British  em- 
pire. Here  he  has  declared  his  opinion,  that  he  is  a  despotic  prince; 
that  he  is  to  use  arbitrary  power;  and,  of  course,  all  his  acts  are 
covered  with  that  shield.  *'  I  know,"  says  he,  **  the  Constitution 
of  Asia  only  from  its  practice."  Will  your  Lordships  submit  to 
hear  the  corrupt  practices  of  mankind  made  the  principles  of  Gov- 
ernment ? 

He  have  arbitrary  power!  My  Lords,  the  East  India  Com- 
pany have  not  arbitrary  power  to  give  him;  the  King  has  no  ar- 
bitrary power  to  give  him;  your  Lordships  have  not;  nor  the 
Commons;  nor  the  whole  Legislature.  We  have  no  arbitrary 
power  to  give,  because  arbitrary  power  is  a  thing  which  neither 
any  man  can  hold  nor  any  man  can  give.  No  man  can  lawfully 
govern  himself  according  to  his  own  will,  much  less  can  one  per- 
son be  governed  by  the  will  of  another.  We  are  all  born  in  sub- 
jection, all  born  equally,  high  and  low,  governors  and  governed, 
in  subjection  to  one  great,  immutable,  pre-existent  law,  prior  to 
all  our  devices,  and  prior  to  all  our  contrivances,  paramount  to 
all  our  ideas  and  all  our  sensations,  antecedent  to  our  very  exist- 
ence, by  which  we  are  knit  and  connected  in  the  eternal  frame  of 
the  universe,  out  of  which  we  cannot  stir. 

This  great  law  does  not  arise  from  our  conventions  or  com- 
pacts; on  the  contrary,  it  gives  to  our  conventions  and  compacts 
all  the  force  and  sanction  they  can  have;  —  it  does  not  arise 
from  our  vain  institutions.  Every  good  gift  is  of  God ;  all  power 
is  of  God ;  —  and  He,  who  has  given  the  power,  and  from  whom 
alone  it  originates,  will  never  suffer  the  exercise  of  it  to  be  prac- 
ticed upon  any  less  solid  foundation  than  the  power  itself.  If, 
then,  all  dominion  of  man  over  man  is  the  effect  of  the  divine  dis- 
position, it  is  bound  by  the  eternal  laws  of  Him  that  gave  it,  with 


330  CHOICE  READINGS 

which  no  human  authority  can  dispense;  neither  he  that  exercises 
it,  nor  even  those  who  are  subject  to  it:  and  if  they  were  mad 
enough  to  make  an  express  compact  that  should  release  their 
magistrate  from  his  duty,  and  should  declare  their  lives,  liberties, 
and  properties  dependent  upon,  not  rules  and  laws,  but  his  mere 
capricious  will,  that  covenant  would  be  void. 

This  arbitrary  power  is  not  to  be  had  by  conquest.  Nor  can 
any  sovereign  have  it  by  succession;  for  no  man  can  succeed  to 
fraud,  rapine,  and  violence.  Those  who  give  and  those  who  receive 
arbitrary  power  are  alike  criminal;  and  there  is  no  man  but  is 
bound  to  resist  it  to  the  best  of  his  power,  wherever  it  shall  show 
its  face  to  the  world. 

Law  and  arbitrary  power  are  in  eternal  enmity.  Name  me 
a  magistrate,  and  I  will  name  property;  name  me  power,  and  I 
will  name  protection.  It  is  a  contradiction  in  terms;  it  is  blas- 
phemy in  religion,  it  is  wickedness  in  politics,  to  say  that  any  man 
can  have  arbitrary  power.  In  every  patent  of  office  the  duty  is 
included.  For  what  else  does  a  magistrate  exist?  To  suppose  for 
power,  is  an  absurdit}'-  in  idea.  Judges  are  guided  and  governed 
by  the  eternal  laws  of  justice,  to  which  we  are  all  subject.  We 
may  bite  our  chains,  if  we  will;  but  we  shall  be  made  to  know 
ourselves,  and  be  taught  that  man  is  born  to  be  governed  by  law; 
and  he  that  will  substitute  will  in  the  place  of  it,  is  an  enemy  to 
God. 

My  Lords,  I  do  not  mean  to  go  further  than  just  to  remind 
your  Lordships  of  this, —  that  Mr.  Hastings's  government  was 
one  whole  system  of  oppression,  of  robbery  of  individuals,  of 
spoliation  of  the  public,  and  of  supersession  of  the  whole  system 
of  the  English  government,  in  order  to  vest  in  the  worst  of  the 
natives  all  the  power  that  could  possibly  exist  in  any  government; 
in  order  to  defeat  the  ends  which  all  governments  ought,  in  com- 
mon, to  have  in  view.  In  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  England,  I 
charge  all  this  villainy  upon  Warren  Hastings,  in  this  last  mo- 
ment of  my  application  to  you. 

Therefore,  it  is  with  confidence  that,  ordered  by  the  Com- 
mons of  Great  Britain,  I  impeach  Warren  Hastings  of  high 
crimes  and  misdemeanors. 

I  impeach  him  In  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain 
in  Parliament  assembled,  whose  parliamentary  trust  he  has  abused. 

I  impeach  him  In  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, whose  national  character  he  has  dishonored. 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  331 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  laws, 
rights,  and  liberties  he  has  subverted. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  prop- 
erty he  has  destroyed,  whose  country  he  has  laid  waste  and  desolate. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  human  nature  itself,  which  he 
has  cruelly  outraged,  injured,  and  oppressed,  in  both  sexes.  And 
I  impeach  him  in  the  name  and  by  the  virtue  of  those  eternal  laws 
of  justice,  which  ought  equally  to  pervade  every  age,  condition, 
rank,  and  situation,  in  the  world. 

—  Edmund  Burke, 


CHARACTER  OF  WASHINGTON 

There  are  but  three  individuals  upon  whom  mankind,  with 
some  approach  to  general  consent,  have  bestowed  the  epithet  of 
"  the  Great."  Shall  we  compare  our  Washington  for  a  moment 
with  each  of  them?  Shall  we  compare  him  with  Peter  the  Great 
of  Russia,  who  flourished  in  the  beginning  of  the  century,  and 
hewed  that  political  colossus  of  the  North  into  form  and  sym- 
metry? A  sovereign  of  vast,  though  often  most  ill-directed 
energy;  a  fearless,  and,  on  some  occasions,  a  beneficent  reformer; 
a  consummate  organizer,  who,  with  a  kind  of  rough  tact,  truly 
felt  the  pulses  of  national  life  in  the  Titanic  frame  which  he 
called  into  being;  pursuing  a  few  grand  ideas,  though  often  by 
eccentric  methods  bor<lering  on  madness,  but  with  a  resolution 
which  no  labors  could  weary  and  no  dangers  appall,  and  forcing 
them  with  an  iron  will  upon  an  unsympathizing  and  apathetic  peo- 
ple. These  are  his  titles  to  the  epithet  of  "  Great " ;  but  with  them 
all  he  was  an  unmitigated  tyrant, —  the  murderer,  perhaps  the 
torturer,  of  his  own  son ;  a  man  who  united  the  wisdom  of  a  phi- 
losopher and  the  policy  of  a  great  prince  with  the  tastes  of  a 
satyr,  the  manners  of  a  barbarian,  and  the  passions  of  a  fiend; 
guilty  of  crimes  so  hideous  and  revolting,  that  if  I  attempted  to 
describe  them  I  should  drive  you  shrieking  from  this  hall.  You 
surely  would  not  permit  me  to  place  the  name  of  Washington  in 
comparison  with  his. 

Or  shall  we  compare  him  with  Frederick  the  Second  of  Prus- 
sia, to  whom  complacent  public  opinion  has  also  accorded  the 
epithet  of  "Great''?     He  was  no  doubt  a  military  and  a  civil 


832  CHOICE  READINGS 

genius  of  the  first  order;  by  the  energy  of  his  character  he  built  up 
a  kingdom  scarcely  known  by  that  title  when  he  came  to  the 
throne,  into  a  first-rate  power;  the  fearless  soldier,  the  profound 
strategist,  the  heroic  chief;  nor  less  a  master  of  political  combina- 
tion, a  zealous  promoter  of  the  material  prosperity  of  his  sub- 
jects, who  doubled  the  population  of  his  little  kingdom,  and 
increased  all  the  resources  in  more  than  the  same  proportion,  not- 
withstanding the  wars  in  which  he  w^as  continually  involved;  but 
at  the  same  time  a  pedant,  ostentatious,  of  superficial  literary  at- 
tainments, a  wretched  poetaster,  a  dupe  of  the  insipid  adulation 
of  godless  foreign  wits,  w^ho  flattered  him  to  his  face  and  ridiculed 
him  behind  his  back;  a  German  sovereign  who  yet  preferred  to 
write  and  speak  poor  broken  French,  in  which  Voltaire  said  there 
was  not  a  sentence  which  you  would  not  know  to  be  the  language 
of  a  foreigner;  a  prince  raised  by  Providence  in  the  bitter  school 
of  adversity  to  an  absolute  throne,  entertaining  the  most  exalted 
ideas  of  the  kingly  prerogative,  drawing  everything,  even  the  ad- 
ministration of  justice,  into  an  arbitrary  centralization,  who  had 
yet  trained  his  undevout  heart  to  believe  that  blind  chance  or 
blind  destiny  occupies  the  throne  of  the  universe;  that  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  could  do  without  a  God,  though  the  paltry  elector- 
ate of  Brandenburgh  could  not  do  without  a  king;  and  that  while 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  hold  the  scattered  provinces  of  his 
little  realm  together  without  a  daily  outgoing  of  civil,  military  and 
judicial  power,  moved  by  one  intellect  and  one  will,  could  yet  be- 
lieve that  the  systems  and  systems  which  compose  the  universe, 
beyond  the  powder  of  human  speech  to  enumerate,  or  human 
thought  to  conceive,  are  thrown  out  into  one  vast  anarchy,  wheel- 
ing and  hurtling  through  the  regions  of  space  without  a  lawgiver 
and  a  head;  who,  so  thinking  and  so  believing  while  he  lived, 
when  he  came  to  die,  in  order  to  mark  more  emphatically  his  con- 
tempt for  the  species  to  which  he  belonged,  instead  of  allowing  his 
'*  poor  old  carcass,"  as  he  himself  called  it,  to  be  laid  by  the 
side  of  his  kindred,  ordered  that  it  should  be  buried  with  his 
favorite  dogs  at  Potsdam! 

Or  shall  w^e  compare  Washington  with  the  third  greatness  of 
his  age,  the  illustrious  captain  of  the  last  generation  in  France; 
that  portentous  blazing  star  which  began  to  flame  in  the  eastern 
sky  as  our  benignant  luminary  was  sinking  in  the  west,  amidst 
the  golden  clouds  of  a  nation's  blessings?     I  have  no  wish  to 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  33S 

trample  on  the  memory  of  Napoleon  the  First,  whom  I  regard  by 
no  means  as  the  most  ambitious  of  conquerors,  the  most  arbitrary 
of  despots,  or  the  worst  of  men.  The  virtues  and  the  feelings, 
like  the  talents,  the  opportunities,  and  the  fortunes  of  this  extraor- 
dinary man,  are  on  too  colossal  a  scale  to  be  measured  by  ordi- 
nary standards  of  morality.  The  prevalent  opinions  in  this  coun- 
try of  his  character  and  career  have  come  to  us  through  a  British 
medium,  discolored  by  a  national  prejudice  and  the  deadly  strug- 
gle of  a  generation;  or  by  natural  reaction  have  been  founded  on 
the  panegyrics  of  grateful  adherents  and  admiring  subjects,  who 
deem  every  Frenchman  a  partner  in  the  glory  of  their  chief. 
Posterity  and  impartial  history  will  subdue  the  lights  and  relieve 
the  shadows  of  the  picture.  They  w^ill  accord  to  him  a  high, 
perhaps  the  highest,  rank  among  the  great  masters  of  war,  placing 
his  name  upon  an  equality  with  the  three  great  captains  of  antiq- 
uity, if  not  above  them;  will  point  to  his  code  as  a  noble  monu- 
ment of  legislative  wisdom;  will  dwell  upon  the  creative  vigor 
with  which  he  brought  order  out  of  the  chaos  of  the  Revolution, 
retrieving  the  dilapidated  finances  and  restoring  the  prostrate 
industry  of  France;  will  enumerate  the  harbors,  the  canals,  the 
bridges,  the  public  buildings,  the  Alpine  roads,  the  libraries,  the 
museums,  and  all  the  thousand  works  of  industrious  peace  and 
productive  art;  will  not  withhold  their  admiration  for  the  giant 
grasp  of  his  genius  and  the  imperial  grandeur  of  his  fortunes, 
nor  deny  a  tribute  of  human  sympathy  to  his  calamitous  decline 
and  fall;  —  but  the  same  impartial  history  will  record  more  than 
one  ineffaceable  stain  upon  his  character,  and  never,  to  the  end  of 
time,  never  on  the  page  of  historian,  poet  or  philosopher;  never 
till  a  taste  for  true  moral  greatness  is  eaten  out  of  the  hearts  of 
men  by  a  mean  admiration  of  success  and  power;  never  in  the 
exhortations  of  the  prudent  magistrate  counseling  his  fellow-citi- 
zens for  their  good;  never  in  the  dark  ages  of  national  fortune, 
when  anxious  patriots  explore  the  annals  of  the  past  for  examples 
of  public  virtue;  never  in  the  admonition  of  the  parent  forming 
the  minds  of  his  children  by  lessons  of  fireside  wisdom ;  never,  O 
never,  will  the  name  of  Napoleon,  nor  of  any  of  the  other  of  the 
famous  conquerors  of  ancient  and  modern  days,  be  placed  upon 
a  level  with  Washington's. 

And  while  we  on  the  22d  of  February  celebrate  with  solemn 
and  joyous  rites  the  great  anniversary  of  our  Washington^  our 


834  CHOICE  READINGS 

fellow-citizens  on  the  Hudson,  on  the  Potomac,  from  the  Soudi- 
ern  plains  to  the  Western  lakes,  are  engaged  in  the  same  offices  of 
gratitude  and  love.  Nor  we,  nor  they  alone, —  beyond  the  Ohio, 
beyond  the  Mississippi,  along  the  stupendous  trail  of  immigration 
from  East  to  West,  which,  bursting  into  States  as  it  moves  west- 
ward, is  already  threading  the  Western  prairies,  swarming  through 
the  portals  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  winding  down  their 
slopes,  the  name  and  the  memory  of  Washington  on  that  gracious 
night  will  travel  with  the  silver  queen  of  heaven  through  sixty  de- 
grees of  longitude,  nor  part  company  with  her  till  she  walks  in  her 
brightness  through  the  golden  gate  of  California,  and  passes 
serenely  on  to  hold  midnight  court  with  her  Australian  stars. 
There  and  there  only,  in  barbarous  archipelagos,  as  yet  untrod- 
den by  civilized  man,  the  name  of  Washington  is  unknown;  and 
there,  too,  when  they  swarm  with  enlightened  millions,  new 
honors  shall  be  paid  with  ours  to  his  memory. 

—  Edward  Everett. 


EULOGY  ON  LAFAYETTE 

There  have  been  those  who  have  denied  to  Lafayette  the  name 
of  a  great  man.  What  is  greatness?  Does  goodness  belong  to 
greatness,  and  make  an  essential  part  of  it?  If  it  does,  who,  I 
would  ask,  of  all  the  prominent  names  In  history,  has  run  through 
such  a  career  with  so  little  reproach,  justly  or  unjustly  bestowed? 
Are  military  courage  and  conduct  the  measure  of  greatness? 
Lafayette  was  intrusted  by  Washington  with  all  kinds  of  service, 
—  the  laborious  and  complicated,  which  required  skill  and  pa- 
tience; the  perilous,  that  demanded  nerve;  and  we  see  him  per- 
forming all  with  entire  success  and  brilliant  reputation.  Is  the 
readiness  to  meet  vast  respcMisibilities  a  proof  of  greatness?  The 
memoirs  of  Mr.  Jefferson  show  us  that  there  was  a  moment,  in 
1789,  when  Lafayette  took  upon  himself,  as  the  head  of  the  mili- 
tary force,  the  entire  responsibility  of  laying  down  the  basis  of 
the  Revolution.  Is  the  cool  and  brave  administration  of  gigantic 
power  a  mark  of  greatness?  In  all  the  whirlwind  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  when,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the  National  Guard,  an 
organized  force  of  three  millions  of  men,  who,  for  any  popular 
purpose,  needed  but  a  word,  a  look,  to  put  them  in  motion,  we 
behold  him  ever  calm,  collected,  disinterested ;  as  free  from  affecta- 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  335 

tion  as  selfishness,  clothed  not  less  with  humility  than  with  power. 
Is  the  voluntary  return,  in  advancing  years,  to  the  direction  of 
affairs,  at  a  moment  like  that,  when,  in  1815,  the  ponderous  ma- 
chinery of  the  French  Empire  was  flying  asunder, —  stunning, 
rending,  crushing  thousands  on  every  side, —  a  mark  of  greatness? 
Lastly,  is  it  any  proof  of  greatness  to  be  able,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
three,  to  take  the  lead  in  a  successful  and  bloodless  revolution;  to 
change  the  dynasty;  to  organize,  exercise,  and  abdicate  a  military 
command  of  three  and  a  half  millions  of  men;  to  take  up,  to  pev- 
form,  and  lay  down  the  most  momentous,  delicate,  and  perilous 
duties,  without  passion,  without  hurry,  without  selfishness?  Is 
it  great  to  disregard  the  bribes  of  title,  office,  money;  to  live,  to 
labor,  and  suffer  for  great  public  ends  alone;  to  adhere  to  prin- 
ciple under  all  circumstances ;  to  stand  before  Europe  and  America 
conspicuous,  for  sixty  years,  in  the  most  responsible  stations,  the 
acknowledged  admiration  of  all  good  men? 

But  it  is  more  than  time,  fellow-citizens,  that  I  commit  the 
memory  of  this  great  and  good  man  to  your  unprompted  con- 
templation. On  his  arrival  among  you,  ten  years  ago,  when  your 
civil  fathers,  your  military,  your  children,  your  whole  population, 
poured  itself  out,  in  one  throng,  to  salute  him;  when  your  can- 
nons proclaimed  his  advent  with  joyous  salvos,  and  your  accla- 
mations were  answered,  from  steeple  to  steeple,  by  festal  bells, — 
with  what  delight  did  you  not  listen  to  his  cordial  and  affectionate 
words  —  "  I  beg  of  you  all,  beloved  citizens  of  Boston,  to  accept 
the  respectful  and  warm  thanks  of  a  heart  which  has  for  nearly 
half  a  century  been  devoted  to  your  illustrious  city!" 

That  noble  heart, —  to  which,  if  any  object  on  earth  was  dear, 
that  object  was  the  country  of  his  early  choice,  of  his  adoption, 
and  his  more  than  regal  triumph,— that  noble  heart  will  beat 
no  more  for  your  welfare.  Cold  and'stijl,  it  is  already  mingling 
with  the  dust.  While  he  lived,  you  thronged  with  delight  to  his 
presence ;  you  gazed  with  admiration  on  his  placfd  features  and 
venerable  form,  not  wholly  unshaken  by  tht  rude  storms  of  his 
career;  and  now  that  he  has  departed,  you  have  assembled  in  this 
cradle  of  the  liberties  for  which,  with  your  fathers,  he  risked  his 
life,  to  pay  the  last  honors  to  his  memory.  You  have  thrown  open 
these  consecrated  portals  to  admit  the  lengthened  train,  which  has 
come  to  discharge  the  last  public  offices  of /respect  to  his  name. 
You  have  hung  these  venerable  arches,  for  t}\e  second  time  since 


336  CHOICE  READINGS 

their  erection,  with  the  sable  badges  of  sorrow.  You  have  thus 
associated  the  memory  of  Lafayette  in  those  distinguished  honors 
which  but  a  few  years  since  you  paid  to  your  Adams  and  Jefferson. 

There  is  not,  throughout  the  world,  a  friend  of  liberty  who 
has  not  dropped  his  head  when  he  has  heard  that  Lafayette  is  no 
more.  Poland,  Italy,  Greece,  Spain,  Ireland,  the  South  American 
republics  —  every  country  where  man  is  struggling  to  recover  his 
birthright, —  have  lost  a  benefactor,  a  patron  in  Lafayette.  And 
what  was  it,  fellow-citizens,  which  gave  to  our  Lafayette  his  spot- 
less fame?  The  love  of  liberty.  What  has  consecrated  his  mem- 
ory in  the  hearts  of  good  men?  The  love  of  liberty.  What 
nerved  his  youthful  arm  with  strength,  and  inspired  him,  in  the 
morning  of  his  days,  with  sagacity  and  counsel?  The  living  love 
of  liberty.  To  what  did  he  sacrifice  power,  and  rank,  and  coun- 
try, and  freedom  itself  ?  To  the  suppression  of  licentiousness, —  to 
the  sanctity  of  plighted  faith, —  to  the  love  of  liberty  protected  by 
law.  Thus  the  great  principle  of  your  Revolutionary  fathers, 
and  of  your  Pilgrim  sires,  was  the  rule  of  his  life  —  the  love  of 
liberty  protected  hy  law. 

You  have  now  assembled  within  these  celebrated  walls  to  per- 
form the  last  duties  of  respect  and  love,  on  the  birthday  of  your 
benefactor.  The  spirit  of  the  departed  is  in  high  communion  with 
the  spirit  of  the  place  —  the  temple  worthy  of  the  new  name  which 
we  now  behold  inscribed  on  its  walls.  Listen,  Americans,  to  the 
lesson  which  seems  borne  to  us  on  the  very  air  we  breathe,  while 
we  perform  these  dutiful  rites!  Ye  winds,  that  wafted  the  Pil- 
grims to  the  land  of  promise,  fan,  va  their  children's  hearts,  the 
love  of  freedom!  Blood,  which  our  fathers  shed,  cry  from  the 
ground!  Echoing  arches  of  this  renowned  hall,  whisper  back  the 
voices  of  other  days!  Glorious  Washington,  break  the  long 
silence  of  that  votive  canvas!     Speak,  speak,  marble  lips;  teach 

us  THE  LOVE  OF  LIBERTY  PROTECTED  BY  LAW. 

—  Edward  Everett. 


^  GRATTAN'S  REPLY  TO  MR.  CORRY 

Has  the  gentlfcman  done?  Has  he  completely  done?  He  was 
unparliamentary  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  speech. 
There  was  scarce  a  word  he  uttered  that  was  not  a  violation  of 
the  privileges  of  the  House.    But  I  did  not  call  him  to  order,— 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  337 

why?  because  the  limited  talents  of  some  men  render  it  impos- 
sible for  them  to  be  severe  without  being  unparliamentary.  But 
before  I  sit  down,  I  shall  show  him  how  to  be  severe  and  par- 
liamentary at  the  same  time. 

On  any  other  occasion  I  should  think  myself  justifiable  in 
treating  with  silent  contempt  anything  which  might  fall  from 
,  that  honorable  member ;  but  there  are  times  when  the  insignif- 
icance of  the  accuser  is  lost  in  the  magnitude  of  the  accusation. 
I  know  the  difficulty  the  honorable  gentleman  labored  under 
when  he  attacked  me,  conscious  that,  on  a  comparative  view  of 
our  characters,  public  and  private,  there  is  nothing  he  could  say 
which  would  injure  me.  The  public  would  not  believe  the  charge. 
I  despise  the  falsehood.  If  such  a  charge  were  made  by  an  honest 
man,  I  would  answer  it  in  the  manner  I  shall  do  before  I  sit 
down.  But  I  shall  first  reply  to  it  when  not  made  by  an  honest 
man. 

The  right  honorable  gentleman  has  called  me  "  an  unim- 
peached  traitor."  I  ask  why  not  "  traitor,"  unqualified  by  any 
epithet?  I  will  tell  him:  it  was  because  he  durst  not.  It  was 
the  act  of  a  coward,  who  raises  his  arm  to  strike,  but  has  not  cour- 
age to  give  the  blow.  I  will  not  call  him  villain,  because  it 
would  be  unparliamentary,  and  he  is  a  privy  counselor.  I  will 
not  call  him  a  fool,  because  he  happens  to  be  chancellor  of  the 
exchequer.  But  I  say,  he  is  one  who  has  abused  the  privilege  of 
Parliament  and  the  freedom  of  debate,  by  uttering  language  which, 
if  spoken  out  of  the  House,  I  should  answer  only  with  a  blow. 
I  care  not  how  high  his  situation,  how  low  his  character,  how 
contemptible  his  speech;  whether  a  privy  counselor  or  a  parasite, 
my  answer  would  be  a  blow. 

He  has  charged  me  with  being  connected  with  the  rebels.  The 
charge  is  utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false.  Does  the  honorable 
gentleman  rely  on  the  report  of  the  House  of  Lords  for  the  foun- 
dation of  his  assertion?  If  he  does,  I  can  prove  to  the  committee 
there  was  a  physical  impossibility  of  that  report  being  true.  But 
I  scorn  to  answer  any  man  for  my  conduct,  whether  he  be  a  polit- 
ical coxcomb,  or  whether  he  brought  himself  into  power  by  a  false 
glare  of  courage  or  not. 

I  have  returned, —  not  as  the  right  honorable  member  has 
said,  to  raise  another  storm, —  I  have  returned  to  discharge  an 
honorable   debt  of   gratitude  to  my  country,   that  conferred  a 

/ 


888  CHOICE  READINGS 

great  reward  for  past  services,  which,  I  am  proud  to  say,  was  not 
greater  than  my  desert.  I  have  returned  to  protect  that  Consti- 
tution of  which  I  was  the  parent  and  founder,  from  the  assassina- 
tion of  such  men  as  the  right  honorable  gentleman  and  his  un- 
worthy associates.  They  are  corrupt,  they  are  seditious,  and  they, 
at  this  very  moment,  are  in  a  conspiracy  against  their  country. 
I  have  returned  to  refute  a  libel,  as  false  as  it  is  malicious,  given 
to  the  public  under  the  appellation  of  a  report  of  the  committee 
of  the  Lords.  Here  I  stand,  ready  for  impeachment  or  trial.  I 
dare  accusation.  I  defy  the  honorable  gentleman;  I  defy  the 
government;  I  defy  their  whole  phalanx;  let  them  come  forth.  I 
tell  the  ministers,  I  will  neither  give  quarter  nor  take  it.  I  am 
here  to  lay  the  shattered  remains  of  my  constitution  on  the  floor 
of  this  House,  in  defense  of  the  liberties  of  my  country. 

—  Henry  Grattan. 


EULOGY  ON  WENDELL  PHILLIPS 

In  every  strain  of  affectionate  and  discriminating  admiration, 
the  legislature,  the  pulpit  and  the  press  have  spoken  the  praise  of 
Wendell  Phillips. 

Sprung  from  the  best  New  England  parentage,  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  entered  Harvard  College.  His  classmates  recall  his 
manly  pride  and  reserve,  with  the  delightful  conversation,  the 
charming  manner,  and  the  affluence  of  kindly  humor  that  was 
never  lost.  He  sauntered  and  gently  studied,  not  a  devoted  stu- 
dent, nor  in  the  bent  of  his  mind,  nor  in  the  special  direction  of 
sympathy,  forecasting  the  reformer,  but  already  the  orator,  and 
the  easy  master  of  the  college  platform. 

After  graduation  he  studied  law,  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and 
began  practice  in  Boston.  As  he  was  sitting  in  his  office  one 
October  afternoon  waiting  for  his  first  client,  the  sound  of  un- 
usual disturbance  drew  him  to  the  street.  There,  within  stone's 
throw  of  the  scene  of  the  Boston  massacre,  under  the  very  shadow 
of  Old  South  Church,  he  beheld  a  scene  such  as  we  of  to-day 
can  scarcely  conceive  —  American  women  insulted  for  befriend- 
ing their  innocent  sisters  whose  children  were  sold  from  their 
arms,  and  an  American  citizen  assailed  by  a  furious  mob  for 
maintaining  that  a  man's  right  to  liberty  was  inherent  and  *n- 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  339 

i^lienable.  It  was  enough!  As  the  jail  doors  closed  upon  Garri- 
son to  save  his  life,  Garrison  and  his  cause  had  won  their  most 
powerful  ally.  With  the  setting  of  that  October  sun  vanished 
forever  the  career  of  prosperous  ease  which  the  genius  and  accom- 
plishments of  Phillips  had  seemed  to  foretell.  His  long-awaited 
client  had  come  at  last  —  scorned,  scarred,  wronged,  degraded,  and 
forsaken  humanity. 

When,  two  years  later,  at  Alton,  Illinois,  Lovejoy  was  lynched 
for  defending  the  right  of  innocent  men  and  women  to  their  per- 
sonal freedom,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Faneuil  Hall  was  se- 
cured for  a  mass-meeting  to  denounce  the  appalling  outrage;  but 
when,  in  that  meeting,  after  words  of  seemly  protest  had  been 
uttered,  a  voice  was  heard,  the  voice  of  the  high  officer  solemnly 
sworn  to  uphold  the  majesty  of  the  law,  declaring,  in  Faneuil 
Hall,  amid  a  storm  of  howling  applause,  that  an  American  put  to 
death  by  a  raging  mob  while  defending  his  right  of  free  speech 
died  as  the  fool  dieth,  the  Boston  boy,  all  on  fire,  with  Concord 
and  Lexington  tugging  at  his  heart,  unconsciously  murmured, 
"  Such  a  speech  in  Faneuil  Hall  must  be  answered  in  Faneuil 
Hall."  "Why  not  answer  it  yourself?'*  whispered  a  neighbor. 
"  Help  me  to  the  platform  and  I  will,''  he  answered ;  and  pushing 
and  struggling  through  the  dense  and  threatening  crowd,  he 
reached  the  platform,  was  lifted  upon  it,  and  advancing  to  speak, 
was  greeted  with  a  roar  of  hostile  cries.  But  riding  the  whirl- 
wind undismayed,  as  for  many  years  thereafter  he  directed  the 
same  wild  storm,  he  stood  upon  the  platform  in  all  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  imperial  youth  —  the  Greeks  would  have  said,  a  God 
descended, —  and  in  words  which  touched  the  mind  and  heart 
and  conscience  as  with  fire  from  heaven,  recalling  Boston  to  her- 
self, he  saved  his  native  city  and  her  cradle  of  liberty  from  the 
damning  disgrace  of  stoning  the  first  martyr  in  the  great  strug- 
gle for  personal  freedom.  "  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "  when  I 
heard  the  gentleman  lay  down  principles  which  placed  the  riot- 
ers, incendiaries,  and  murderers  of  Alton  side  by  side  with  Otis 
and  Hancock  and  Quincy  and  Adams,  I  thought  those  pictured 
lips  would  have  broken  into  voice  to  rebuke  the  recreant  Ameri- 
can, the  slanderer  of  the  dead." 

In  all  the  annals  of  American  speech  there  had  been  heard  no 
such  speech  since  Patrick  Henry's  electrical  warning  to  George 
the  Third.     It  was  the  greatest  of  oratorical  triumphs  when  a 


840  CHOICE  READINGS 

supreme  emotion,  a  sentiment  which  Is  to  mould  a  people  anew, 
lifts  the  orator  to  adequate  expression.  It  transmitted,  unextin- 
guished, the  torch  of  an  eloquence  that  has  roused  nations,  and 
changed  the  whole  course  of  history.  The  mighty  struggle  Indeed 
inspired  universal  eloquence;  but,  supreme  over  it  all,  was  the 
eloquence  of  Phillips,  as  over  the  harmonious  tumult  of  an  or- 
chestra, one  clear  voice,  like  a  lark  hi^h  poised  in  air,  carries  the 
melody.  (  )-QUJLf&jJiJt.    fHUpt^  "- 

He  faced  his  audience  with  a  tranquil  mien,  and  a  beaming 
aspect  that  was  never  dimmed.  He  spoke,  and  in  the  measured 
cadences  of  his  quiet  voice  there  was  intense  feeling,  but  no  dec- 
lamation, no  passionate  appeal,  no  superficial  and  feigned  emo- 
tion; it  was  simply  colloquy,  a  gentleman  conversing.  Uncon- 
sciously, yet  surely,  the  ear  and  heart  were  charmed.  How  was 
it  done?  Ah!  how  did  Mozart  do  it?  How  Raphael?  The 
secret  of  the  rose's  sweetness,  the  bird's  ecstasy,  the  sunset's  glory 
—  this  is  the  secret  of  genius  and  eloquence.  What  was  seen, 
what  was  heard,  was  the  form  of  noble  manhood,  the  courteous  and 
self-possessed  tone,  the  flow  of  modulated  and  musical  speech, 
sparkling  with  matchless  richness  of  illustration,  happy  anecdote 
and  historic  parallel;  with  wit  and  pitiless  invective,  with  sting- 
ing satire,  with  melodious  pathos,  with  crackling  epigram  and 
limpid  humor,  like  the  bright  ripples  that  play  about  the  sure  and 
steady  prow  of  the  resistless  ship.  The  divine  energy  of  his  convic- 
tion utterly  possessed  him. 

*'''  But  he  never  flattered  the  mob,  nor  hung  upon  its  neck,  nor 
pandered  to  its  passion,  nor  suffered  its  foaming  hate  or  its  exult- 
ing enthusiasm  to  touch  the  calm  poise  of  his  regnant  soul.  Those 
who  were  eager  to  Insult  and  silence  him  when  he  pleaded  for  the 
negro,  wept  and  shouted  and  rapturously  crowned  him  when  he 
paid  homage  to  O'Connell.  But  the  crowd  did  not  follow  him 
with  huzzas.  He  moved  in  solitary  majesty.  And  if,  from  his 
smooth  speech,  a  lightning  flash  of  satire  or  scorn  struck  a 
cherished  He,  or  an  honored  character,  or  a  dogma  of  the  party 
creed,  and  the  crowd  burst  into  a  storm  of  furious  dissent,  he 
beat  it  into  silence  with  uncompromising  iteration.  If  it  tried 
to  drown  his  voice,  he  turned  to  the  reporters  and  calmly  said, 
"  Howl  on,  I  speak  to  thirty  millions  here." 

Among  her  noblest  sons  his  native  city  will  ever  cherish  him, 
and  gratefully  recall  the  unbending  Puritan  soul  that  dwelt  in  a 


ORATORICAL  SELECTIONS  341 

form  so  gracious  and  urbane.  The  plain  house  in  which  he  lived, 
severely  plain  because  the  welfare  of  the  suffering  and  the  slave 
were  preferred  to  book  and  picture  and  every  fair  device  of  art; 
the  house  to  which  the  north  star  led  the  trembling  fugitive;  the 
radiant  figure  passing  swiftly  to  and  fro  along  these  streets;  the 
ceaseless  charity  untold,  the  strong  sustaining  heart  of  private 
friendship;  the  sacred  domestic  affection  that  must  not  here  be 
named ;  the  eloquence,  which  like  the  song  of  Orpheus,  will  fade 
from  living  memory  as  a  doubtful  tale;  the  great  scene  of  his  life 
in  Faneuil  Hall;  the  mighty  struggle  and  the  mighty  triumph 
with  which  his  name  is  forever  blended ;  the  consecration  of  a  life 
hid  with  God  in  sympathy  with  man  —  these,  all  these,  will  live 
among  your  immortal  traditions.  And  not  among  yours  alone. 
As  the  years  go  by,  and  only  the  large  outlines  of  lofty  American 
characters  and  careers  remain,  the  wide  Republic  will  confess 
the  benediction  of  a  life  like  this,  and  gladly  own  that  if,  with 
perfect  faith  and  hope  assured,  America  would  still  stand  and 
bid  distant  generations  "  Hail,"  the  inspiration  of  her  national 
life  must  be  the  sublime  moral  courage,  the  spotless  purity,  the 
unswerving  integrity,  the  all-embracing  humanity,  the  absolutely 
unselfish  devotion  of  great  powers  to  great  public  ends,  which 
were  the  glory  of  Wendell  Phillips. 

—  George  William  Curtis. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS 

EXPLOSIVE    OROTUND. 

Under  this  head  come  all  abrupt  and  startling  emotions,  as 
fear,  alarm,  terror,  hurry  and  commotion,  anger,  etc. 

The  chief  peculiarity  of  this  form  of  the  Orotund  is  that  the 
tones,  as  they  issue  from  the  glottis,  resemble  the  successive  re- 
ports of  a  pistol.  In  the  case  of  the  Expulsive  Orotund,  the 
form  of  utterance  was  a  short  shout.  Here  it  has  no  prolonga- 
tion w^hatsoever,  but  is  a  sudden,  instantaneous  burst  of  voice. 
Without  this  sharp,  clear  and  pistol-like  utterance,  all  pieces  of 
anger  and  fierce  emotion,  as  well  as  the  fury  and  intensity  of 
battle  scenes,  would  be  lost,  and  the  words  charged  with  fire 
and  passion  would  fall  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker  lifeless  and 
flat.  On  the  other  hand,  if  this  explosive  utterance  were  ap- 
plied to  oratory,  it  would  crush  out  all  the  dignity  of  persuasive 
eloquence,  and  turn  the  prudent  and  manly  utterance  of  the 
orator  into  angry  denunciation. 

The  only  style  of  oratory  in  which  the  voice  assumes  any- 
thing like  an  explosive  form  is  that  of  fierce  invective. 

The  prevailing  pitch  of  the  Explosive  Orotund  is  high,  and 
sometimes  very  high,  and  the  movement  of  the  voice  quick  or 
rapid. 

SELECTIONS  OF  BOLD  ADDRESS,  ANGER,  HURRY, 
COMMOTION,  ETC. 

MARMION  AND  DOUGLAS 

The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew, 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu :  — 

"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest. 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest, 

While  in  Tantallon*s  towers  I  stayed. 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land. 
And  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand."  — 

342 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS    34? 

But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 

Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke :  — 

"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers  shall  still 

Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 

My  castles  are  my  king's  alone 

From  turret  to  foundation-stone, — 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own; 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." — 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire. 

And—"  This  to  me!  "  he  said,— 
"  An  't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard. 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas's  head! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state. 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate: 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride. 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

I  tell  thee,  thou 'rt  defied! 
And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied !  " — 

On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age; 
Fierce  he  broke  forth, — "And  dar'st  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den. 
The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 


344  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go? 
No,  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms, —  what,  Warder,  ho! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall." — 

Lord  Marmion  turned, —  well  was  his  need !  — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung; 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung: 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise; 

Not  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim; 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reached  his  band, 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand. 

And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours. 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


BATTLE  OF  BEAU  AN  DUINE 

No  cymbal  clashed,  no  clarion  rang. 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum: 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armor's  clang. 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seem'd  to  quake, 

That  shadowed  o'er  their  road. 

Their  vaward  scouts  no  tidings  bring, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe. 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roe; 
The  host  moves,  like  a  deep-sea-wave ; 
When  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     345 

The  lake  is  passed,  and  now  they  gain, 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Trosach's  rugged  jaws; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen, 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 
Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell. 
As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell, 
Had  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell! 
Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

The  archery  appear: 
For  life !  for  life !  their  flight  they  ply  — 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high. 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 
Onward  they  drive  in  dreadful  race, 

Pursuers  and  pursued; 
Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase. 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

The  spearmen's  twilight-wood?  ^ 

— "Down,  down,"  cried  Mar,  "your  lances  down! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe ! '' 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown. 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  level'd  low; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side. 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide, — 
— "  We  '11  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  Tinchel  cows  the  game! 
They  come  as  fleet  as  forest-deer, 

We  '11  drive  them  back  as  tame." — 
Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course. 
The  relics  of  the  archer-force, 
Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 


846  CHOICE  READINGS 

Above  the  tide  each  broadsword  bright, 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 
Each  targe  was  dark  below; 

And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

They  hurl'd  them  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lances'  shivering  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash; 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  a  hundred  anvils  rang! 
But  Moray  wheel'd  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Alpine's  flank, 

—  "  My  banner-man,  advance ! 
I  see,"  he  cried,  "  their  column  shake, — 
Now,  gallants !  for  your  ladies'  sake. 

Upon  them  with  the  lance !  " 

The  horsemen  dash'd  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne, — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men. 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
Vanished  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear, 

Vanished  the  mountain-sword. 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn. 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in, 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass; 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 
Save  those  who  ne*er  shall  fight  again. 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     ^47 

THE  BURIAL  MARCH  OF  DUNDEE 

On  the  heights  of  Killiecrankie 

Yester-morn  our  army  lay; 
Slowly  rose  the  mist  in  columns 

From  the  river's  broken  way; 
Hoarsely  roared  the  swollen  torrent, 

And  the  Pass  was  wrapped  in  gloom, 
When  the  clansmen  rose  together 

From  their  lair  amidst  the  broom. 

Then  we  belted  on  our  tartans, 

And  our  bonnets  down  we  drew, 
And  we  felt  our  broadswords'  edges. 

And  we  proved  them  to  be  true; 
And  we  prayed  the  prayer  of  soldiers. 

And  we  cried  the  gathering-cry, 
And  we  clasped  the  hands  of  kinsmen, 

And  we  swore  to  do  or  die ! 
Then  our  leader  rode  before  us 

On  his  war-horse  black  as  night, — 
Well  the  Cameronian  rebels 

Knew  that  charger  in  the  fight !  — 
And  a  cry  of  exultation 

From  the  bearded  warriors  rose; 
For  we  loved  the  house  of  Claver'se, 

And  we  thought  of  good  Montrose. 
But  he  raised  his  hand  for  silence  — 

"Soldiers!  I  have  sworn  a  vow: 
Ere  the  evening  star  shall  glisten 

On  Schehallion's  lofty  brow. 
Either  we  shall  rest  in  triumph, 

Or  another  of  the  Graemes 
Shall  have  died  in  battle-harness 

For  his  Country  and  King  James! 
Think  upon  the  Royal  Martyr, — 

Think  of  what  his  race  endure, — 
Think  of  him  whom  butchers  murdered 

On  the  field  of  Magus  Nuir:  — 


348  CHOICE  READINGS 

By  his  sacred  blood  I  charge  ye, 

By  the  ruined  hearth  and  shrine, — 
By  the  blighted  hopes  of  Scotland 

By  your  injuries  and  mine, — 
Strike  this  day  as  if  the  anvil 

Lay  beneath  your  blows  the  while, 
Be  they  covenanting  traitors 

Or  the  brood  of  false  Argyle ! 
Strike!  and  drive  the  trembling  rebels 

Backward  o'er  the  stormy  Forth; 
Let  them  tell  their  pale  Convention 

How  they  fared  within  the  North. 
Let  them  tell  that  Highland  honor 

Is  not  to  be  bought  nor  sold. 
That  we  scorn  their  Prince's  anger 

As  we  loath  his  foreign  gold. 
Strike!  and  when  the  fight  is  over, 

If  ye  look  in  vain  for  me. 
Where  the  dead  are  lying  thickest. 

Search  for  him  that  was  Dundee ! " 

Loudly  then  the  hills  re-echoed 

With  our  answer  to  his  call, 
But  a  deeper  echo  sounded 

In  the  bosoms  of  us  all. 
For  the  lands  of  wide  Breadalbane, 

Not  a  man  who  heard  him  speak 
Would  that  day  have  left  the  battle. 

Flashing  eye  and  burning  cheek 
Told  the  clansmen's  fierce  emotion. 

And  they  harder  drew  their  breath. 
For  their  souls  were  strong  within  them 

Stronger  than  the  grasp  of  death. 
Soon  we  heard  a  challenge- trumpet 

Sounding  in  the  Pass  below. 
And  the  distant  tramp  of  horses, 

And  the  voices  of  the  foe; 
Down  we  crouched  amid  the  bracken, 

Till  the  Lowland  ranks  drew  near, 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     349 

Panting  like  the  hounds  in  summer, 

When  they  scent  the  stately  deer. 
From  the  dark  defile  emerging, 

Next  we  saw  the  squadrons  come, 
Leslie's  foot  and  Leven's  troopers 

Marching  to  the  tuck  of  drum; 
Through  the  scattered  wood  of  birches, 

O'er  the  broken  ground  and  heath, 
Wound  the  long  battalion  slowly, 

Till  they  gained  the  plain  beneath; 
Then  we  bounded  from  our  covert, — 

Judge  how  looked  the  Saxons  then, 
When  they  saw  the  rugged  mountains 

Start  to  life  with  armed  men ! 

Like  a  tempest  down  the  ridges 

Swept  the  hurricane  of  steel, 
Rose  the  slogan  of  Macdonald, — 

Flashed  the  broadsword  of  Lochiel! 
Vainly  sped  the  withering  volley 

'Mongst  the  foremost  of  our  band, — 
On  we  poured  until  we  met  them. 

Foot  to  foot,  and  hand  to  hand. 
Horse  and  man  went  down  like  drift-wood 

When  the  floods  are  black  at  Yule, 
And  their  carcasses  are  whirling 

In  the  Garry's  deepest  pool. 
Horse  and  man  went  down  before  us, — 

Living  foe  there  tarried  none 
On  the  field  of  Killiecrankie, 

When  that  stubborn  fight  was  done! 

And  the  evening  star  was  shining 

On  Schehallion's  distant  head. 
When  we  wiped  our  bloody  broadswords. 

And  returned  to  count  the  dead. 
There  we  found  him  gashed  and  gory, 

Stretched  upon  the  cumbered  plain, 
As  he  told  us  where  to  seek  him, 

In  the  thickest  of  the  slain. 


85:5  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  a  smile  was  on  hfs  visage, 

For  within  his  dying  ear 
Pealed  the  joyful  note  of  triumph, 

And  the  clansmen's  clamorous  cheer; 
So,  amidst  the  battle's  thunder, 

Shot,  and  steel,  and  scorching  flame. 
In  the  glory  of  his  manhood 

Passed  the  spirit  of  the  Graeme! 

Open  wide  the  vaults  of  AthoU, 

Where  the  bones  of  heroes  rest, — 
Open  wide  the  hallowed  portals 

To  receive  another  guest! 
Last  of  Scots,  and  last  of  freemen, — 

Last  of  all  that  dauntless  race, 
fWho  would  rather  die  unsullied 

Than  outlive  the  land's  disgrace! 
O  thou  lion-hearted  warrior! 

Reck  not  of  the  after-time; 
Honor  may  be  deemed  dishonor, 

Loyalty  be  called  a  crime. 
Sleep  in  peace  with  kindred  ashes 

Of  the  noble  and  the  true. 
Hands  that  never  failed  their  country, 

Hearts  that  never  baseness  knew. 
Sleep!  —  and  till  the  latest  trumpet 

Wakes  the  dead  from  earth  and  sea, 
Scotland  shall  not  boast  a  braver 

Chieftain  than  our  own  Dundee! 

—  W.  Edmondstoune  Aytoun, 


MILES  STANDISH'S  ENCOUNTER  WITH  THE 
INDIANS 

After  a  three  days'  march  he  came  to  an  Indian  encampment 
Pitched  on  the  edge  of  a  meadow,  between  the  sea  and  the  forest; 
Women  at  work  by  the  tents,  and  the  warriors,  horrid  with  war- 
paint. 
Seated  about  a  fire,  and  smoking  and  talking  together ; 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     351 

Who,  when  they  saw  from  afar  the  sudden  approach  of  the  white 
men, 

Saw  the  flash  of  the  sun  on  breastplate  and  saber  and  musket, 

Straightway  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  two,  from  among  them 
advancing, 

Came  to  parley  with  Standish,  and  offer  him  furs  as  a  present; 

Friendship  was  in  their  looks,  but  in  their  hearts  there  was  hatred. 

Braves  of  the  tribe  were  these,  and  brothers  gigantic  in  stature. 

Huge  as  Goliath  of  Gath,  or  the  terrible  Og,  king  of  Bashan ; 

One  was  Pecksuot  named,  and  the  other  was  called  Wattawamat. 

Round  their  necks  were  suspended  their  knives  in  scabbards  of 
wampum. 

Two-edged,  trenchant  knives,  with  points  as  sharp  as  a  needle. 

Other  arms  had  they  none,  for  they  were  cunning  and  crafty. 

**  Welcome,  English !  "  they  said, —  these  words  they  had  learned 
from  the  traders 

Touching  at  times  on  the  coast,  to  barter  and  chaffer  for  peltries. 

Then  in  their  native  tongue  they  began  to  parley  with  Standish, 

Through  his  guide  and  interpreter,  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white 
man, 

Begging  for  blankets  and  knives,  but  mostly  for  muskets  and 
powder, 

Kept  by  the  white  man,  they  said,  concealed,  with  the  plague, 
in  his  cellars, 

Ready  to  be  let  loose,  and  destroy  his  brother  the  red  man! 

But  when  Standish  refused,  and  said  he  would  give  them  the 
Bible, 

Suddenly  changing  their  tone,  they  began  to  boast  and  to  bluster. 

Then  Wattawamat  advanced  with  a  stride  in  front  of  the  other, 

And,  with  a  lofty  demeanor,  thus  vauntingly  spake  to  the  Cap- 
tain: 

"  Now  Wattawamat  can  see,  by  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  Captain, 

Angry  is  he  in  his  heart;  but  the  heart  of  the  brave  Wattawamat 

Is  not  afraid  of  the  sight.    He  was  not  born  of  a  woman. 

But  on  a  mountain,  at  night,  from  an  oak-tree  riven  by  lightning, 

Forth  he  sprang  at  a  bound,  with  all  his  weapons  about  him, 

Shouting,  'Who  is  there  here  to  fight  with  the  brave  Watta- 
wamat?*" 

Then  he  unsheathed  his  knife,  and,  whetting  the  blade  on  his 
left  hand, 


352  CHOICE  READINGS 

Held  it  aloft  and  displayed  a  woman's  face  on  the  handle, 
Saying,  with  bitter  expression  and  look  of  sinister  meaning: 
"  I  have  another  at  home,  with  the  face  of  a  man  on  the  handle; 
By  and  by  they  shall  marry ;  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  children !  *' 

Then  stood  Pecksuot  forth,  self-vaunting,  insulting  Miles  Stand- 
ish: 
While  with  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  that  hung  at  his  bosom, 
Drawing  it  half  from  its  sheath,  and  plunging  it  back,  as  he 

muttered, 
"  By  and  by  it  shall  see;  it  shall  eat;  ah,  ha!  but  shall  speak  not! 
This  is  the  mighty  Captain  the  white  men  have  sent  to  destroy  us! 
He  is  a  little  man ;  let  him  go  and  work  with  the  w^omen !  " 

Meanwhile  Standish  had  noted  the  faces  and  figures  of 
Indians 

Peeping  and  creeping  about  from  bush  to  tree  in  the  forest, 

Feigning  to  look  for  game,  with  arrows  set  on  their  bow-strings, 

Drawing  about  him  still  closer  and  closer  the  net  of  their  ambush. 

But  undaunted  he  stood,  and  dissembled  and  treated  them 
smoothly ; 

So  the  old  chronicles  say,  that  were  writ  in  the  days  of  the  fathers. 

But  when  he  heard  their  defiance,  the  boast,  the  taunt  and  the 
insult. 

All  the  hot  blood  of  his  race,  of  Sir  Hugh  and  of  Thurston  de 
Standish, 

Boiled  and  beat  in  his  heart,  and  swelled  in  the  veins  of  his  tem- 
ples. 

Headlong  he  leaped  on  the  boaster,  and,  snatching  his  knife  from 
its  scabbard. 

Plunged  it  into  his  heart,  and,  reeling  backward,  the  savage 

Fell  with  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  a  fiendlike  fierceness  upon  it. 

Straight  there  arose  from  the  forest  the  awful  sound  of  the  war- 
whoop, 

And  like  a  flurry  of  snow  on  the  whistling  wind  of  December, 

Swift  and  sudden  and  keen  came  a  flight  of  feathery  arrows. 

Then  came  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  out  of  the  cloud  came  the  light- 
ning. 

Out  of  the  lightning  thunder;  and  death  unseen  ran  before  it. 

Frightened  the  savages  fled  for  shelter  in  swamp  and  in  thicket, 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     353 

Hotly  pursued  and  beset;  but  their  sachem,  the  brave  Wattawamat, 
Fled  not;  he  was  dead.     Unswerving  and  swift  had  a  bullet 
Passed  through  his  brain,  and  he  fell  with  both  hands  clutching 

the  greensward, 
Seeming  in  death  to  hold  back  from  his  foe  the  land  of  his  fathers. 
Thus  the  first  battle  was  fought  and  won  by  the  stalwart  Miles 

Standish. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  IVRY 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are! 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  the  dance, 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green,  and  sunny  vales,  O  pleasant  land 

of  France! 
And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the  waters, 
Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning  daughters; 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, 
For  cold  and  stifif  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy  walls  annoy. 
Hurrah !  hurrah !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of  war. 
Hurrah !  hurrah !  for  Ivry  and  King  Henry  of  Navarre ! 

Oh,  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel  peers. 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish  spears! 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our  land ! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon  in  his  hand ; 
And  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's  empurpled  flood, 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with  his  blood ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  Name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  has  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor  drest, 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant  crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye ; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and  high. 


354  CHOICE  READINGS 

Right  graciously,  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing  to  wing, 
Down  all  our  line,  in  deafening  shout,  "  God  save  our  lord,  the 

King!" 
"  And  if  thy  standard-bearer  fall,  —  as  fall  full  well  he  may, 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray, — 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amid  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme,  to-day,  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah!  the  foes  are  moving!  Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and  roaring  culverin ! 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almayne. 
Now,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies  now, —  upon  them  with  the  lance! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white  crest, 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours!     Mayenne  hath  turned 

his  rein, 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter  —  the  Flemish  G)unt  is  slain ; 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Biscay  gale ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and  cloven  mail. 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our  van, 
"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew !  "  was  passed  from  man  to  man  ; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry  then,  "  No  Frenchman  ie  my  foe; 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner ;  but  let  your  brethren  go." 
Oh !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or  in  war. 
As  our  sovereign  lord.  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of  Navarre! 

Ho!  maidens  of  Vienna!    Ho!  matrons  of  Lucerne! 

Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who  never  shall  return ; 

Ho!  Philip,  send  for  charity  thy  Mexican  pistoles. 

That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor  spearmen's 

souls! 
Ho!  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms  be  bright! 
Ho!  burghers  of  St.  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward  to-night! 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     355 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised  the 

slave, 
And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise  and  the  valor  of  the  brave. 
Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories  are; 
And  glory  to  our  sovereign  lord.  King  Henry  of  Navarre! 

—  Lord  Macaulay, 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Charge  for  the  guns ! ''  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade!  " 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not  though  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered: 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply. 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why. 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die: 
Into  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered: 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well: 
Into  the  jaws  of  death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


CHOICE  READINGS 

Flashed  all  their  sabers  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sab'ring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered: 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke, 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  saber-stroke, 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back  —  but  not. 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered: 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
While  horse  and  hero  fell. 
They  that  had  fought  so  well. 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them. 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade? 
Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred. 

—  Lord  Tennyson, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  FONTENOY 
May  II,  1745 

Thrice,  at  the  huts  of  Fontenoy,  the  English  column  failed, 
And,  twice,  the  lines  of  Saint  Antoine,  the  Dutch  in  vain  assailed ; 
For  town  and  slope  were  filled  with  fort  and  flanking  battery. 
And  well  they  swept  the  English  ranks,  and  Dutch  auxiliary. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     357 

As  vainly,  through  De  Barri's  wood,  the  British  soldiers  burst, 

The  French  artillery  drove  them  back,  diminished  and  dispersed. 

The  bloody  Duke  of  Cumberland  beheld  vi^ith  anxious  eye, 

And  ordered  up  his  last  reserve,  his  latest  chance  to  try. 

On  Fontenoy,  on  Fontenoy,  how  fast  his  generals  ride! 

And  mustering  come  his  chosen  troops,  like  clouds  at  eventide. 

Six  thousand  English  veterans  in  stately  column  tread, — 
Their  cannon  blaze  in  front  and  flank,  Lord  Hay  is  at  their  head ; 
Steady  they  step  adown  the  slope  —  steady  they  climb  the  hill; 
Steady  they  load  —  steady  they  fire,  moving  right  onward  still, 
Betwixt  the  wood  and  Fontenoy,  as  through  a  furnace  blast, 
Through  rampart,  trench,  and  palisade,  and  bullets  showering  fast; 
And  on  the  open  plain  above  they  rose  and  kept  their  course, 
With  ready  fire  and  grim  resolve,  that  mocked  at  hostile  force; 
Past  Fontenoy,  past  Fontenoy,  while  thinner  grow  their  ranks, 
They  break,  as  broke  the  Zuyder  Zee  through  Holland's  ocean 
banks. 

More  idly  than  the  summer  flies,  French  tirailleurs  rush  round ; 
As  stubble  to  the  lava  tide,  French  squadrons  strew  the  ground; 
Bombshell,  and  grape,  and  roundshot  tore,  still  on  they  marched 

and  fired  — 
Fast  from  each  volley,  grenadier  and  voltigeur  retired. 
"  Push  on  my  household  cavalry;  "  King  Louis  madly  cried; 
To  death  they  rush,  but  rude  their  shock  —  not  unavenged  they 

died. 
On  through  the  camp  the  column  trod  —  King  Louis  turns  his 

rein ; 
"  Not  yet,  my  liege,''  Saxe  interposed,  "  the  Irish  troops  remain;  ''^ 
And  Fontenoy,  famed  Fontenoy,  had  been  a  Waterloo, 
Were  not  these  exiles  ready  then, —  fresh,  vehement,  and  true. 

"Lord  Clare,''  he  says,  "you  have  your  wish;  there  are  your 

Saxon  foes !  " 
The  marshal  almost  smiled  to  see,  so  furiously  he  goes! 
How  fierce  the  look  these  exiles  wear,  who  're  wont  to  be  so  gay. 
The  treasured  wrongs  of  fifty  years  are  in  their  hearts  to-day  — 
The  treaty  broken,  ere  the  ink  wherewith  'twas  writ  could  dry, 
Their  plundered  homes,  their  ruined  shrines,  their  women's  part- 
ing cry. 


358  CHOICE  READINGS 

Their  priesthood  hunted  down  like  wolves,  their  country  over- 
thrown,— 
Each  looks,  as  if  revenge  for  all  were  staked  on  him  alone. 
On  Fontenoy,  on  Fontenoy,  nor  ever  yet  elsewhere, 
Rushed  on  to  fight  a  nobler  band  than  those  proud  exiles  were. 

O'Brien's  voice  is  hoarse  with  joy,  as,  halting,  he  commands, 
"Fix  bay'nets  —  Charge!"     Like  mountain-storm,  rush  on  these 

fiery  bands. 
Thin  is  the  English  column  now,  and  faint  their  volleys  grow, 
Yet,  must'ring  all  the  strength  they  have,  they  make  a  gallant 

show. 
They  dress  their  ranks  upon  the  hill  to  face  that  battle  wind  — 
Their  bayonets  the  breakers'  foam;  like  rocks,  the  men  behind! 
One  volley  crashes  from  their  line,  when,  through  the  surging 

smoke. 
With   empty  guns  clutched  in  their  hands,   the  headlong  Irish 

broke. 
On  Fontenoy,  on  Fontenoy,  hark  to  that  fierce  huzza! 
"  Revenge !  remember  Limerick !  dash  down  the  Sassenagh  I " 

Like  lions  leaping  at  a  fold,  when  mad  with  hunger's  pang, 

Right  up  against  the  English  line  the  Irish  exiles  sprang: 

Bright  was  their  steel,  'tis  bloody  now,  their  guns  are  filled  with 

gore; 
Through  shattered  ranks,  and  severed  files,  and  trampled  flags 

they  tore; 
The  English  strove  with  desperate  strength,  paused,  rallied,  stag- 
gered, fled  — 
The  green  hillside  is  matted  close  with  dying  and  with  dead; 
Across  the  plain,  and  far  away  passed  on  that  hideous  wrack, 
While  cavalier  and  fantassin  dash  in  upon  their  track. 
On  Fontenoy,  on  Fontenoy,  like  eagles  in  the  sun, 
With  bloody  plumes  the  Irish  stand  —  the  field  is  fought  and  won! 

—  Thomas  Davis. 


HERVfi  RIEL 


On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 

Did  the  English  fight  the  French, —  woe  to  France! 
And  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  through  the  blue, 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     359 

Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of  sharks  pursue, 

Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  Saint  Malo  on  the  Ranee, 
With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

'Twas  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor  in  full  chase. 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship,  Damfreville; 
Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small, 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all; 
And  they  signaled  to  the  place, 
"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race ! 

Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbor,  take  us  quick, —  or,  quicker 

still. 
Here  's  the  English  can  and  will !  " 

Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and  leaped  on  board. 
**  Why,  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these  to  pass  ?  '*^ 
laughed  they; 
'*  Rocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  passage  scarred  and 

scored. 
Shall  the  Formidable  here,  with  her  twelve  and  eighty  gims, 

Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single  narrow  way. 
Trust  to  enter  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of  twenty  tons, 
And  with  flow  at  full  beside? 
Now  't  is  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 
Reach  the  mooring?    Rather  say, 
While  rock  stands  or  water  runs. 
Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay! " 

Then  was  called  a  council  straight; 

Brief  and  bitter  the  debate : 

"  Here's  the  English  at  our  heels;  would  you  have  them  take  In 

tow 
All  that 's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together  stern  and  bow, 
For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound? 
Better  run  the  ships  aground ;  " 

(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech.) 
"  Not  a  minute  more  to  wait ! 

Let  the  captains  all  and  each 

Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,  burn  the  vessels  on  the  beach! 
France  must  undergo  her  fate." 


360  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Give  the  word !  "    But  no  such  word 
Was  ever  spoke  or  heard; 

For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid  all  these, — « 
A  captain?    A  lieutenant?     A  mate, —  first,  second,  third? 
No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 
With  his  betters  to  compete! 

But  a  simple  Breton  sailor  pressed  by  Tourville  for  the  fleet, — 
A  poor  coasting-pilot  he,  Herve  Riel  the  Croisickese. 
And  "  What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here?  "  cries  Herve  Riel; 
"  Are  you  mad,  you   Malouins  ?    Are  you  cowards,   fools  or 
.   rogues  ? 
Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the  soundings,  tell 
On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every  swell 

'Twixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve,  where  the  river  disembogues  ? 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold  ?     Is  it  love  the  lying  's  for  ? 
Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day, 
Have  I  piloted  your  bay. 

Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of  Solidor. 
Burn  the  fleet,  and  ruin  France?    That  were  worse  than  fifty 
Hogues ! 
Sirs,  they  know  I  speak  the  truth !     Sirs,  believe  me,  there  's 
a  way! 
Only  let  me  lead  the  line. 

Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 
Get  this  Formidable  clear. 
Make  the  others  follow  mine. 

And  I  lead  them  most  and  least  by  a  passage  I  know  well, 
Right  to  Solidor,  past  Greve, 

And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound ; 
And  if  one  ship  misbehave, — 

Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground, — 
Why,  I  Ve  nothing  but  my  life;  here's  my  head!"  cries  Herve 
Riel. 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait. 

"  Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great! 

Take  the  helm,  lead  the  line,  save  the  squadron ! ''  cried  its  chief. 
Captains,  give  the  sailor  place! 

He  is  Admiral,  in  brief. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     361 

Still  the  north-wind,  by  God's  grace. 

See  the  noble  fellow's  face 

As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound, 

Clears  the  entry  like  a  hound, 

Keeps  the  passage  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide  sea's  profound! 

See,  safe  through  shoal  and  rock, 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock. 
Not  a  ship  that  misbehaves,  not  a  keel  that  grates  the  ground. 

Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief! 
The  peril,  see,  is  past. 
All  are  harbored  to  the  last; 

And  just  as  Herve  Riel  halloos  ''Anchor!  "—sure  as  fate. 
Up  the  English  come,  too  late. 

So  the  storm  subsides  to  calm; 

They  see  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Greve; 
Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  with  balm. 
"  Just  our  rapture  to  enhance. 

Let  the  English  rake  the  bay, 
Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance 

As  they  cannonade  away! 
'Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the  Ranee !  '* 
How  hope  succeeds  despair  on  each  captain's  countenance! 

Outbursts  all  with  one  accord, 

"  This  is  Paradise  for  Hell ! 
Let  France,  let  France's  King 
Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing!  " 

What  a  shout  and  all  one  word, 

"Herve  Riel!" 
As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 

Not 'a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes, 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 

Then  said  Damfreville,  "  My  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end. 

Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard: 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips; 
You  have  saved  the  king  his  ships. 

You  must  name  your  own  reward. 


362  CHOICE  READINGS 

Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipse! 

Demand  whate  er  you  will, 

France  remains  your  debtor  still. 

Ask  to  heart's  content,  and  have !  or  my  name 's  not  Damf reviUe." 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 
On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke, 
As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 
Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue; 
"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say. 

Since  on  board  the  duty  's  done, 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what  is  it  but  a  run  ?  — 
Since  't  is  ask  and  have  I  may, — 

Since  the  others  go  ashore, — 
Come!  A  good  whole  holiday! 

Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom  I  call  the  Belle  Aurore!  " 

That  he  asked,  and  that  he  got, —  nothing  more. 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost; 
Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell ; 
Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 
On  a  single  fishing-smack. 
In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to  wrack  — 

All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence  England  bore  the 
bell. 
Go  to  Paris ;  rank  on  rank 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank; 

You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herve  Riel. 
So,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
Herve  Riel,  accept  my  verse! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honor  France,  love  thy  wife,  the  Belle  Aurore. 

—  Robert  Browning. 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     363 

WARREN^S  ADDRESS 

Stand!  the  ground  's  your  own,  my  braves! 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves? 
Will  ye  look  for  greener  graves? 

Hope  ye  mercy  still? 
What 's  the  mercy  despots  feel  ? 
Hear  it  in  that  battle-peal! 
Read  it  on  yon  bristling  steel! 

Ask  it, —  ye  who  will. 

Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire? 
Will  ye  to  your  homes  retire? 
Look  behind  you !  —  they  're  afire  1 

And,  before  you,  see 
Who  have  done  it!  From  the  vale 
On  they  come !  —  and  will  ye  quail  ? 
Leaden  rain  and  iron  hail 

Let  their  welcome  be! 

In  the  God  of  battles  trust! 
Die  we  may, —  and  die  we  must : 
But,  O,  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consigned  so  well, 
As  where  heaven  its  dew  shall  shed 
On  the  martyred  patriot's  bed, 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head, 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell. 

—  John  Pierpont, 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS  FROM 
GHENT  TO  AIX 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris  and  he; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three; 

"  Good  speed !  "  cried  the  watch  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew, 

"  Speed !  "  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through. 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 


364  CHOICE  READINGS 

Not  a  word  to  each  other ;  we  kept  the  great  pace, — 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  changing  our  place; 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup  and  set  the  pique  right, 
Rebuckled  the  cheek-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland  a  whit. 

'Twas  a  moonset  at  starting;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear; 

At  Boom  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see; 

At  Diiffeld  'twas  morning  as  plain  as  could  be; 

And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we  heard  the  half-chime, 

So  Joris  broke  silence  with  "  Yet  there  is  time !  " 

At  Aerschot  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every  one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past; 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at  last. 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray; 
And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track; 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence, —  ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance; 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes,  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upward  in  galloping  on. 

By  Hasselt  Dirck  groaned;  and  cried  Joris,  "  Stay  spur! 

Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault 's  not  in  her ; 

We  '11  remember  at  Aix," —  for  one  heard  the  quick  wheeze 

Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck,  and  staggering  knees, 

And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank, 

As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 

Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky; 

The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh; 

'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle,  bright  stubble  like  chaflE; 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white. 

And  "  Gallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix  is  in  sight!  " 


ABRUPT  AND  STARTLING  SELECTIONS     365 

"  How  they  '11  greet  us!  " —  and  all  In  a  moment  his  roan 
Rolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone ; 
And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the  whole  weight 
Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her  fate, 
With  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood  to  the  brim. 
And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buff-coat,  each  holster  let  fall, 

Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  ail. 

Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his  ear. 

Called  my  Roland  his  pet  name,  my  horse  without  peer, — 

Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sung,  any  noise,  bad  or  good, 

Till  at  length  Into  Aix  Roland  galloped  and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is  friends  flocking  round, 
As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the  ground ; 
And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of  mine. 
As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of  wine. 
Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 
Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good  news  from  Ghent. 

—  Robert  Browning, 


MISCELLANEOUS 

The  selections  under  this  head  are  of  varied  emotion,  and  noj 
satisfactory  classification  can  be  made  unless  each  piece  is  ana- 
lyzed; hence,  it  has  been  thought  best  to  rely  upon  the  suggestions 
already  given  as  the  best  means  for  successful  interpretation. 

The  student,  after  careful  study  of  the  leading  styles  of  com- 
position vi^hich  have  been  considered,  v^ill  have  acquired  such  famil- 
iarity v^ith  the  w^ritten  forms  of  impassioned  literature,  that  he  v^ill 
be  prepared  to  analyze  the  spirit  and  temper  of  all  selections  in- 
volving a  variety  of  emotions. 

MISCELLANEOUS  SELECTIONS 

KING  ROBERT  OF  SICILY 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 

And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Appareled   in  magnificent  attire, 

With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire. 

On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 

And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat. 

And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 

Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain. 

He  caught  the  w^ords,  "  Deposuit  potentes 

De  sede  et  exaltavit  humiles;  " 

And  slovi^ly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head, 

He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 

•*  What  mean  these  words?  "  The  clerk  made  ansv^rer  meet 
"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat. 
And  has  exalted  theni  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 
*'  'T  is  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue  ; 

366 


MISCELLAKEOTJS  8Q5 

For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 
There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my  throne !  " 
And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep, 
Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  already  night; 

The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  light, 

Save  where  the  lamps,  that  glimmered  few  and  faint 

Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around. 

But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 

He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked; 

He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked,  * 

And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  complaints. 

And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 

The  sounds  re-echoed  from  the  roof  and  walls 

As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 

At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout. 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Came  with  his  lantern,  asking,  "  Who  is  there  ?  *' 
Half  choked  with  rage.  King  Robert  fiercely  said, 
"  Open:  't  is  I,  the  King!    Art  thou  afraid?  " 
The  frightened  sexton,  muttering,  with  a  curse, 
*'  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse !  " 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal  wide; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak. 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor  spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night 
And  vanished  like  a  specter  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  AUemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire. 
Bareheaded,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire, 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate. 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate; 


^ 


868  CHOICE  READINGS 

Rushed  through  the  court-yard,  thrusting  in  his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 
And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless  speed; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed. 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet  room, 
Blazing  with  light  and  breathing  with  perfume. 

There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king. 
Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring. 
King  Robert's  self  in  feature,  form  and  height, 
But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light! 
It  was  an  Angel ;  and  his  presence  there 
With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air. 

A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed. 

The  throneless  monarch  on  the  Angel  gazed, 

Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 

With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes; 

Then  said,   "Who  art  thou?  and  why  com'st  thou  here?*' 

To  which  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer, 

"  I  am  the  King,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 

From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne !  " 

And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words. 

Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their  swords! 

The  Angel  answered  with  unruffled  brow, 

"  Nay,  not  the  King,  but  the  King's  Jester,  thou 

Henceforth  shalt  wear  the  bells  and  scalloped  cape, 

And  for  thy  counselor  shalt  lead  an  ape; 

Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 

And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall !  " 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and  prayers, 

They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs; 

A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 

And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door. 

His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange  alarms, 

The  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms. 


MISCELLANEOUS  300 

And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 
With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "  Long  live  the  King!  *' 
Next  morning,  waking  w^ith  the  day's  first  beam, 
He  said  vi^ithin  himself,  "  It  was  a  dream!  " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head. 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed, 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls. 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls, 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape, 
Shivering  and  chattering  sat  the  wretched  ape. 
It  was  no  dream ;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch ! 

Days  came  and  went;  and  now  returned  again 

To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign; 

Under  the  AngeFs  governance  benign 

The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine, 

And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning  breast 

Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 

Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate. 

Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 

Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  Jesters  wear. 

With  look  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 

Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are  shorn, 

By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 

His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 

What  others  left, —  he  still  was  unsubdued. 

And  when  the  Angel  met  him  on  his  way. 

And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say, 

Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 

The  velvet  scabbard  held  a  sword  of  steel, 

"Art  thou  the  King?"  the  passion  of  his  woe 

Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow. 

And,  lifting  high  his  forehead  he  would  fling 

The  haughty  answer  back,  "  I  am,  I  am  the  King!  *' 


\ 


Almost  three  years  were  ended ;  when  there  came 
Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 


370  CHOICE  READINGS 

From  Valmond,  Emperor  of  AUemaine, 

Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 

By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 

On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome. 

The  Angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests, 

And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests, 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 

And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 

Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 

Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 

Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 

By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 

With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and  the  stir 

Of  jeweled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo!  among  the  menials,  in  mock  state. 

Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait. 

His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  in  the  wind, 

The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind, 

King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 

In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they  went. 

The  Pope  received  them  with  great  pomp  and  blare 
Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  Saint  Peter's  square. 
Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace. 
Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 

While  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers 

He  entertained  the  Angel  unawares, 

Robert,  the  Jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd, 

Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud, 

**  I  am  the  King !    Look  and  behold  in  me 

Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily! 

This  man  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes, 

Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise. 

Do  you  not  know  me?  does  no  voice  within 

Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  ?  " 

The  Pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 

Gazed  at  the  Angel's  countenance  serene; 


MISCELLANEOUS  371 

The  Emperor,  laughing,  said,  "  It  is  strange  sport 
To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  Fool  at  court !  '*  — 
And  the  poor,  baffled  Jester  in  disgrace 
Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  Holy  Week  went  by. 
And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky; 
The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  its  light, 
Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright, 
4  And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men, 
Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 
Even  the  Jester  on  his  bed  of  straw, 
With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor  saw; 
He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 
And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor, 
He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 
Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 

Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 

Homeward  the  Angel  journeyed,  and  again 

The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train 

Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 

Unto  Salerno,  and  from  thence  by  sea. 

And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 

And  seated  on  the  throne  in  his  great  hall. 

He  heard  the  Angelus  from  convent  towers. 

As  if  a  better  world  conversed  with  ours, 

He  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher. 

And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire; 

And  when  they  were  alone,  the  Angel  said, 

"  Art  thou  the  King?  "    Then,  bowing  down  his  head, 

King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his  breast, 

And  meekly  answered  him:  "Thou  knowest  best! 

My  sins  as  scarlet  are ;  let  me  go  hence, 

And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence. 

Across  those  stones,  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven. 

Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven! " 

The  Angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 
A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place. 


872  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  through  the  open  window,  loud  and  clear, 
They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel  near, 
Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street: 
**  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree !  " 
And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 
Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string: 
"  I  am  an  Angel,  and  thou  art  the  King!  " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 

Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo!  he  was  alone! 

But  all  appareled  as  in  days  of  old, 

With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold; 

And  when  his  courtiers  came,  they  found  him  there 

Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


HORATIUS  AT  THE  BRIDGE 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium, 

By  the  nine  gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 

Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 
By  the  nine  gods  he  swore  it, 

And  named  a  trysting  day, 
And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth, 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north, 

To  summon  his  array. 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast. 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 
The  horsemen  and  the  footmen 

Are  pouring  in  amain 
From  many  a  stately  market-place, 

From  many  a  fruitful  plain. 

And  now  hath  every  city 
Sent  up  her  tale  of  men; 


MISCELLANEOUS  373 

The  foot  are  fourscore  thousand, 

The  horse  are  thousands  ten. 
Before  the  gates  of  Sutrium 

Is  met  the  great  array, 
A  proud  man  was  Lars  Porsena 

Upon  the  trysting  day. 

But  by  the  yellow  Tiber 

Was  tumult  and  affright : 
From  all  the  spacious  champaign 

To  Rome  men  took  their  flight 
A  mile  around  the  city, 

The  throng  stopped  up  the  ways 
A  fearful  sight  it  was  to  see 

Through  two  long  nights  and  days. 

Now,  from  the  rock  Tarpeian, 

Could  the  wan  burghers  spy 
The  line  of  blazing  villages 

Red   in   the  midnight  sky. 
The  Fathers  of  the  City, 

They  sat  all  night  and  day, 
For  every  hour  some  horseman  came 

With  tidings  of  dismay. 

They  held  a  council  standing 

Before  the  river-gate; 
Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess, 

For  musing  or  debate. 
Outspake  the  Consul  roundly: 

"  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down; 
For  since  Janiculum  is  lost, 

Naught  else  can  save  the  town.'* 

Just  then  a  scout  came  flying, 

All  wild  with  haste  and  fear: 
"To  arms!  to  arms!  Sir  Consul; 

Lars  Porsena  is  here." 
On  the  low  hills  to  westward 

The  Consul  fixed  his  eye. 
And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 

Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 


874  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  nearer,  fast  and  nearer, 

Doth  the  red  whirlwind  come; 
And  louder  still  and  still  more  loud, 
From  underneath  that  rolling  cloud, 
Is  heard  the  trumpet's  war-note  proud, 

The  trampling  and  the  hum. 
And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Now  through  the  gloom  appears. 
Far  to  left  and  far  to  right, 
In  broken  gleams  of  dark-blue  light. 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright. 

The  long  array  of  spears. 

But  the  Consul's  brow  was  sad, 

And  the  Consul's  speech  was  low. 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall, 

And  darkly  at  the  foe: 
"  Their  van  will  be  upon  us 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down; 
And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 

What  hope  to  save  the  town  ?  " 

Then  outspake  brave  Horatius, 

The  captain  of  the  gate: 
**  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 

Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 
And  how  can  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods? 

"  Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 

With  all  the  speed  ye  may; 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me. 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play, — 
In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me?" 

Then  outspake  Spurius  Lartius, — 
A  Ramnian  proud  was  he: 


MISCELLANEOUS  375 

^*  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand. 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 
And  outspake  strong  Herminius, — 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he: 
*'  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

"  Horatius,"  quoth  the  Consul, 

"  As  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be." 
And  straight  against  that  great  array, 

Forth  went  the  dauntless  Three. 
Now,  while  the  Three  were  tightening 

Their  harness  on  their  backs, 
The  Consul  was  the  foremost  man 

To  take  in  hand  an  axe; 
And  Fathers  mixed  with  Commons 

Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow. 
And  smote  upon  the  planks  above. 

And  loosed  the  props  below. 

Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army. 

Right  glorious  to  behold, 
Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  Hght> 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 
Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee. 
As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread, 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread, 
Rolled  slowly  towards  the  bridge's  head. 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  Three. 

The  three  stood  calm  and  silent, 

And  looked  upon  the  foes. 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose; 
And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 

Before  that  mighty  mass; 
To  earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they  drew, 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 

To  win  the  narrow  pass. 


376  t^HOICE  READINGS 

Aunus,  from  green  Tifernum, 

Lord  of  the  hill  of  vines; 
And  Scius,  whose  eight  hundred  slaves 

Sicken  in  Ilva's  mines; 
And  Picus,  long  to  Clusium 

Vassal  in  peace  and  war. 

Stout  Lartius  hurled  down  Aunus 

Into  the  stream  beneath; 
Herminius  struck  at  Seius, 

And  clove  him  to  the  teeth; 
At  Picus  brave  Horatius 

Darted  one  fiery  thrust, 
And  the  proud  Umbrian's  gild-ed  arms 

Clashed  in  the  bloody  dust. 

But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 

Was  heard  amongst  the  foes. 
A  wild  and  wrathful  clamor 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 
Six  spears'  lengths  from  the  entrance 

Halted  that  mighty  mass, 
And  for  a  space  no  man  came  forth 

To  win  the  narrow  pass. 

But,  hark!  the  cry  is  Astur; 

And  lo!  the  ranks  divide; 
And  the  great  lord  of  Luna 

Comes  with  his  stately  stride. 
Upon  his  ample  shoulders 

Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield, 
And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 

Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

He  smiled  on  those  bold  Romans, 

A  smile  serene  and  high; 
He  eyed  the  flinching  Tuscans, 

Arid  scorn  was  in  his  eye. 
Quoth  he,  "  The  she-wolf's  litter 

Stand  savagely  at  bay; 
But  will  ye  dare  to  follow, 

If  Astur  clears  the  way?  •* 


MISCELLANEOUS  377 

Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 

With  both  hands  to  the  height, 
He  rushed  against  Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might; 
With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 

Right  deftly  turned  the  blow, 
The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too  nigh; 
It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh. 
The  Tuscans  raised  a  joyful  cry 

To  see  the  red  blood  flow. 

He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 

He  leaned  one  breathing-space. 
Then,  like  a  wild-cat  mad  with  wounds. 

Sprang  right  at  Astur's  face. 
Through  teeth  and  skull  and  helmet 

So  fierce  a  thrust  he  sped, 
The  good  sword  stood  a  handbreadth  out 

Behind  the  Tuscan's  head. 

And  the  great  lord  of  Luna 

Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke, 
As  falls  on  Mount  Avernus 

A  thunder-smitten  oak. 
On  Astur's  throat  Horatius 

Right  firmly  pressed  his  heel. 
And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain. 

Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel. 
**  And  see,*'  he  cried,  "  the  welcome. 

Fair  guests,  that  waits  you  here! 
What  noble  Lucumo  comes  next 

To  taste  our  Roman  cheer  ?  '' 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 

Have  manfully  been  plied, 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 

Above  the  boiling  tide. 
"Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius!" 

Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all; 
"Back,  Lartius!  back,  Herminius! 

Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall !  " 


378  CHOICE  READINGS 

Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius; 

Herminius  darted  back; 
And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 

They  felt  the  timbers  crack; 
But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 

And  on  the  further  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 
But,  with  a  crash  like  thunder, 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream; 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome; 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

But  constant  still  in  mind, — 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before. 

And  the  broad  flood  behind. 
"  Down  with  him !  "  cried  false  Sextus, 

With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face ; 
"  Now  yield  thee,"  cried  Lars  Porsena, 

"  Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace !  " 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 

Those  craven  ranks  to  see; 
Naught  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  naught  spake  he; 
But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home; 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome: 

"O  Tiber,  Father  Tiber! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 
A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms, 

Take  thou  in  charge  this  day! " 


MISCELLANEOUS  379 

So  he  spake,  and,  speaking,  sheathed 

The  good  sword  by  his  side, 
And,  with  his  harness  on  his  back, 

Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Was  heard  from  either  bank, 
But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes, 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank; 
And  when  above  the  surges 

They  saw  his  crest  appear, 
All  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry, 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current. 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain, 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing, 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 
And  heavy  with  his  armor. 

And  spent  with  changing  blows; 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

And  now  he  feels  the  bottom ;  — 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands; 
Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers 

To  press  his  gory  hands. 
And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping. 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud. 
He  enters  through  the  River  Gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

—  Lord  Macaulaym 


THE  VAGABONDS 

We  are  two  travelers,  Roger  aa2  I 

Roger  's  my  dog:  —  come  here,  you  Scanjet' 

Jump  for  the  gentlemen, —  mind  your  cytl 
Over  the  table, —  look  out  for  the  lamp  I -^ 


880  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  rogue  is  growing  a  little  old; 

Five  years  we  Ve  tramped  through  wind  and  weather. 
And  slept  outdoors  when  nights  were  cold, 

And  ate  and  drank  —  and  starved  together. 

We  Ve  learned  what  comfort  is,  I  tell  you ! 

A  bed  on  the  floor,  a  bit  of  rosin, 
A  fire  to  thaw  our  thumbs  (poor  fellow! 

The  paw  he  holds  up  there  ^s  been  frozen), 
Plenty  of  catgut  for  my  fiddle 

(This  outdoor  business  is  bad  for  the  strinp^«), 
Then  a  few  nice  buckwheats  hot  from  the  griddle, 

And  Roger  and  I  set  up  for  kings! 

No,  thank  ye,  sir, —  I  never  drink ; 

Roger  and  I  are  exceedingly  moral, — 
Are  n't  we,  Roger  ?  —  see  him  wink !  — 

Well,  something  hot  then, —  we  won't  quarrel. 
He  's  thirsty,  too, —  see  him  nod  his  head  ? 

What  a  pity,  sir,  that  dogs  can't  talk! 
He  understands  every  word  that 's  said, — 

And  he  knows  good  milk  from  water-and-chalk» 

The  truth  is,  sir,  now  I  reflect, 

I  Ve  been  so  sadly  given  to  grog, 
I  wonder  I  Ve  not  lost  the  respect 

(Here's  to  you,  sir!)  even  of  my  dog. 
But  he  sticks  by  through  thick  and  thin; 

And  this  old  coat,  with  its  empty  pockets, 
And  rags  that  smell  of  tobacco  and  gin. 

He'll  follow  while  he  has  eyes  in  his  sockets. 

There  isn't  another  creature  living 

Would  do  it,  and  prove,  through  every  disaster. 
So  fond,  so  faithful,  and  so  forgiving 

To  such  a  miserable,  thankless  master! 
Ne,  sir !  —  see  him  wag  his  tail  and  grin ! 

By  George !  it  makes  my  old  eyes  water !  — 
That  is,  there  's  something  in  this  gin 

That  chokes  a  fellow.     But  no  matter! 


MISCELLANEOUS  jjQi 

We  '11  have  some  music,  if  you  're  willing, 

And  Roger  (hem!  what  a  plague  a  cough  is,  sir!) 
Shall  march  a  little.    Start,  j^ou  villain! 

Stand  straight!  'Bout  face!  Salute  your  officer! 
Put  up  that  paw!     Dress!     Take  your  rifle! 

(Some  dogs  have  arms,  you  see!)  Now  hold  your 
Cap  while  the  gentlemen  give  a  trifle, 

To  aid  a  poor  old  patriot  soldier! 

March!    Halt!    Now  show  how  the  rebel  shakes, 

When  he  stands  up  to  hear  his  sentence. 
Now  tell  us  how  many  drams  it  takes 

To  honor  a  jolly  new  acquaintance. 
Five  yelps, —  that 's  five ;  he  's  mighty  knowing ! 

The  night 's  before  us,  fill  the  glasses !  — 
Quick,  sir!     I  'm  ill, —  my  brain  is  going!  — 

Some  brandy, —  thank  you, —  there!  —  it  passes! 

Why  not  reform  ?     That 's  easily  said  ; 

But  I  Ve  gone  through  such  wretched  treatment 
Sometimes  forgetting  the  taste  of  bread, 

And  scarce  remembering  what  meat  meant, 
That  my  poor  stomach  's  past  reform  ; 

And  there  are  times  when,  mad  with  thinking, 
I  'd  sell  out  heaven  for  something  warm 

To  prop  a  horrible  inward  sinking. 

Is  there  a  way  to  forget  to  think? 

At  your  age,  sir,  home,  fortune,  friends, 
A  dear  girl's  love, —  but  I  took  to  drink, — 

The  same  old  story ;  you  know  how  it  ends. 
If  you  could  have  seen  these  classic  features, — 

You  need  n't  laugh,  sir ;  they  were  not  then 
Such  a  burning  libel  on  God's  creatures: 

I  was  one  of  your  handsome  men! 

If  you  had  seen  her,  so  fair  and  young. 

Whose  head  was  happy  on  this  breast! 
If  you  could  have  heard  the  songs  I  sung 

When  the  wine  went  round,  you  would  n't  have  guessed 


382  CHOICE  READINGS 

That  ever  I,  sir,  should  be  straying 

From  door  to  door,  with  fiddle  and  dog, 
Ragged  and  penniless,  and  playing 

To  you  to-night  for  a  glass  of  grog! 

She  's  married  since, —  a  parson's  wife ; 

'T  was  better  for  her  that  we  should  part, — 
Better  the  soberest,  prosiest  life 

Than  a  blasted  home  and  a  broken  heart 
Have  I  seen  her?    Once;  I  was  weak  and  spent 

On  the  dusty  road,  a  carriage  stopped; 
But  little  she  dreamed,  as  on  she  went. 

Who  kissed  the  coin  that  her  fingers  dropped! 

You  Ve  set  me  talking,  sir ;  I  'm  sorry ; 

It  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  the  change! 
What  do  you  care  for  a  beggar's  story? 

Is  it  amusing?  you  find  it  strange? 
I  had  a  mother  so  proud  of  me! 

'T  was  well  she  died  before  —  Do  you  know 
If  the  happy  spirits  in  heaven  can  see 

The  ruin  and  wretchedness  here  below? 

Another  glass,  and  strong,  to  deaden 

This  pain ;  then  Roger  and  I  will  start 
I  wonder,  has  he  such  a  lumpish,  leaden, 

Aching  thing  in  place  of  a  heart? 
He  is  sad  sometimes,  and  would  weep  if  he  could. 

No  doubt,  remembering  things  that  were, — 
A  virtuous  kennel,  with  plenty  of  food, 

And  himself  a  sober,  respectable  cur. 

I  'm  better  now ;  that  glass  was  warming. 

You  rascal!  limber  your  lazy  feet! 
We  must  be  fiddling  and  performing 

For  supper  and  bed,  or  starve  in  the  street 
Not  a  very  gay  life  to  lead,  you  think? 

But  soon  we  shall  go  where  lodgings  are  free, 
And  the  sleepers  need  neither  victuals  nor  drink;  — 

The  sooner  the  better  for  Roger  and  me! 

—  /.   T.   Trowbridge. 


MISCELLANEOUS  383 

LINCOLN,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE  ♦ 

When  the  Norn  Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  Hour 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  left  the  Heaven  of  Heroes  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road  — 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth, 
Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy ; 
Tempered  the  heap  with  thrill  of  human  tears ; 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
Into  the  shape  she  breathed  a  flame  to  light 
That  tender,  tragic,  ever-changing  face. 
Here  was  a  man  to  hold  against  the  world, 
A  man  to  match  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 

The  color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red  earth ; 

The  smack  and  tang  of  elemental  things: 

The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  cliff; 

The  good-will  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 

The  friendly  welcome  of  the  wayside  well; 

The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 

The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 

The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars ; 

The  secrecy  of  streams  that  make  their  way 

Beneath  the  mountain  to  the  rifted  rock; 

The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 

That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  flower 

As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind  — 

To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 

That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 

Sprung  from  the  West, 
The  strength  of  virgin  forests  braced  his  mind. 
The  hush  of  spacious  prairies  stilled  his  soul. 
Up  from  log  cabin  to  the  Capitol, 
One  fire  was  on  his  spirit,  one  resolve  — 
To  send  the  keen  ax  to  the  root  of  wrong. 
Clearing  a  free  way  for  the  feet  of  God. 
And  evermore  he  burned  to  do  his  deed 
With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  king: 
He  built  the  rail-pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow, 


♦Copyright  by  Edwin  Markham.      By  permission  of  the  author,  from  *<Thc  Ma« 
•^hthc  Hoc,  and  Complete  Poems." 


384  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  stroke, 
To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart ; 
And  when  the  judgment  thunders  split  the  house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  rest, 
He  held  the  ridgepole  up,  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place  — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree  — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise. 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  lordly  cedar,  green  with  boughs, 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills, 
And  leaves  a  lonesome  place  against  the  sky. 

— Edwin  Markham, 


O  CAPTAIN  !    MY  CAPTAIN  ! 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip  is  done. 
The  ship  has  weathered  every  wrack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring; 
But  O  heart  !  heart  !  heart  ! 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead  ! 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells  ; 
Rise  up  —  for  you  the  flag  is  flung  —  for  you  the  bugle  trills, 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribboned  wreaths  —  for  you   the  shores 
.         a-crowding. 

For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning 
Here  Captain  !  dear  father  ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head  1 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 
You  Ve  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still. 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will. 
The  ship  is  anchored  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and  done. 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object  won. 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells  ! 
But  I,  with  mournful  tread. 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies. 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

—  Walt  Whitman. 


MISCELLANEOUS  885 

THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT 

PART  I 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky; 
And  thro'  the  field  the  road  runs  by 

To  many-tower'd  Camelot; 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go, 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Round  an  island  there  below, 

The  island  of  Shalott. 

Willows  whiten,  aspens  quiver. 
Little  breezes  dusk  and  shiver 
Thro'  the  wave  that  runs  forever 
By  the  island  in  the  river 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot. 
Four  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towers, 
Overlook  a  space  of  flowers. 
And  the  silent  isle  embowers 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

By  the  margin,  willow-veiFd,  > 

Slide  the  heavy  barges  trailed 
By  slow  horses;  and  unhail'd 
The  shallop  flitteth  silken-sail'd 

Skimming  down  to  Camelot: 
But  who  hath  seen  her  wave  her  hand? 
Or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand? 
Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott? 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 
In  among  the  bearded  barley, 
Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly 
From  the  river  winding  clearly 

Down  to  tower'd  Camelot: 
And  by  the  moon  the  reaper  weary, 
Piling  sheaves  in  uplands  airy. 
Listening,  whispers  '*  'T  is  the  fairy 

Lady  of  Shalott.*' 


886  CHOICE  READINGS 

PART  II 

There  she  weaves  by  night  and  day 
A  magic  web  with  colours  gay. 
She  has  heard  a  whisper  say, 
A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be, 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  moving  thro'  a  mirror  clear 
That  hangs  before  her  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 
There  she  sees  the  highway  near 

Winding  down  to  Camelot: 
There  the  river  eddy  whirls, 
And  there  the  surly  village-churls. 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market-girls. 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad, 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad, 
Or  long  hair'd  page  in  crimson  clad. 

Goes  by  to  tower'd  Camelot: 
And  sometimes  thro'  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding  two  and  two: 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
To  weave  the  mirror's  magic  sights. 
For  often  thro'  the  silent  nights 
A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights 

And  music,  went  to  Camelot : 
Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead, 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed ; 
*^  I  am  half  sick  of  shadows,"  said 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 


MISCELLANEOUS  337 

PART  III 

A  bow-shot  from  her  bower-eaves, 
He  rode  between  the  barley-sheaves, 
The  sun  came  dazzling  thro'  the  leaves. 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 

Of  bold  Sir  Launcelot. 
A  red-cross  knight  for  ever  kneel'd 
To  a  lady  in  his  shield, 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field, 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

The  gemmy  bridle  glitter'd  free. 
Like  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 
Hung  in  a  golden  Galaxy. 
The  bridle  bells  rang  merrily 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot: 
And  from  his  blazoned  baldric  slung 
A  mighty  silver  bugle  hung, 
And  as  he  rode  his  armor  rung. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather 
Thick-jeweird  shone  the  saddle-leather, 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather 
Burned  like  one  burning  flame  together 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often  thro'  the  purple  night. 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright, 
Some  bearded  meteor,  trailing  light, 

Moves  over  still  Shalott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glow'd: 
On  burnish'd  hooves  his  war-horse  trode; 
From  underneath  his  helmet  flow'd 
His  coalblack  curls  as  on  he  rode, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  the  river 
He  flash'd  into  the  crystal  mirror, 
"  Tirra  lirra,"  by  the  river 

Sang  Sir  Launcelot. 


888  CHOICE  READINGS 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom, 
She  made  three  paces  thro'  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom, 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 

She  look'd  down  to  Camelot. 
Out  flew  the  web  and  floated  wide; 
The  mirror  cracked  from  side  to  side; 
"  The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

PART  IV 

In  the  stormy  east  wind  straining. 
The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning, 
The  broad  stream  in  his  banks  complaining, 
Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

Over  tower'd  Camelot; 
Down  she  came  and  found  a  boat 
Beneath  a  willow  left  afloat, 
And  round  about  the  prow  she  wrote 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  down  the  river's  dim  expanse 
Like  some  bold  seer  in  a  trance. 
Seeing  all  his  own  mischance  — 
With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot. 
And  at  the  closing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  chain,  and  down  she  lay; 
'  The  broad  stream  bore  her  far  away, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Lying,  robed  in  snowy  white 
That  loosely  flew  to  left  and  right  — 
The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light  — 
Thro*  the  noises  of  the  night 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot: 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along 
The  willowy  hills  and  fields  among. 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 


MISCELLANEOUS  889 

Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy, 
Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly, 
Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly 
And  her  eyes  were  darkened  wholly 

Turn'd  to  tower'd  Camelot. 
For  ere  she  reached  upon  the  tide 
The  first  house  by  the  water-side, 
Singing  in  her  song  she  died, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Under  tower  and  balcony, 

By  garden-wall  and  gallery, 

A  gleaming  shape  she  floated  by. 

Dead-pale  between  the  houses  high, 

Silent  into  Camelot. 
Out  upon  the  wharfs  they  came, 
Knights  and  burgher,  lord  and  dame. 
And  round  the  prow  they  read  her  name, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

—  Lord  Tennysofu 


BILL  MASON'S  BRIDE 

Half  an  hour  till  train  time,  sir. 

An'  a  fearful  dark  time,  too; 
Take  a  look  at  the  switch  lights,  Tom, 

Fetch  in  a  stick  when  you  're  through. 
On  timef  well,  yes,  I  guess  so  — 

Left  the  last  station  all  right; 
She  '11  come  round  the  curve  a-flyin' ; 

Bill  Mason  comes  up  to-night. 

You  know  Bill?    No?    He 's  engineer, 

Been  on  the  road  all  his  life  — 
I  'II  never  forget  the  mornin' 

He  married  his  chuck  of  a  wife. 
'T  was  the  day  the  mill  hands  struck. 

Just  off  work,  every  one ; 
They  kicked  up  a  row  in  the  village 

And  killed  old  Donovan's  son. 


m)  CHOICE  READINGS 

Bill  had  n't  been  married  mor'n  an  hour, 

Up  comes  a  message  from  Kress, 
Orderin'  Bill  to  go  up  there, 

And  bring  down  the  night  express. 
He  left  his  gal  in  a  hurry, 

And  went  up  on  Number  One, 
Thinking  of  nothing  but  Mary, 

And  the  train  he  had  to  run. 

And  Mary  sat  down  by  the  window 

To  wait  for  the  night  express; 
And,  sir,  if  she  had  n't  a'  done  so. 

She  'd  been  a  widow,  I  guess. 
For  it  must  a'  been  nigh  midnigh-t 

When  the  mill  hands  left  the  Ridge; 
They  come  down  —  the  drunken  devils, 

Tore  up  a  rail  from  the  bridge. 
But  Mary  heard  'em  a-workin' 

And  guessed  there  was  somethin'  wrong-— 
And  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes. 

Bill's  train  it  would  be  along ! 

She  could  n't  come  here  to  tell  us, 

A  mile  —  it  would  n't  a'  done ; 
So  she  jest  grabbed  up  a  lantern. 

And  made  for  the  bridge  alone. 
Then  down  came  the  night  express,  sir. 

And  Bill  was  makin'  her  climb! 
But  Mary  held  the  lantern, 

A-swingin'  it  all  the  time. 

Well,  by  Jove!  Bill  saw  the  signal, 

And  he  stopped  the  night  express, 
And  he  found  his  Mary  cryin', 

On  the  track,  in  her  weddin'  dress; 
Cry  in'  an'  laughin*  for  joy,  sir, 

An'  holdin'  on  to  the  light  — 
Hello!  here's  the  train  —  good-bye,  sir. 

Bill  Mason's  on  time  to-night. 

—  Bret  Harte. 


MISCELLANEOUS  ^  39I 

CASSIUS  ON  HONOUR 
Well,  honour  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — 
I  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life,  but,  for  my  single  self, 
I  had  as  lief  not  be  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Caesar,  so  were  you; 
We  both  have  fed  as  well,  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he. 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Csesar  said  to  me,  "  Dar'st  thou,  Cassius,  now 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 
And  swim  to  yonder  point  ?  "     Upon  the  word, 
Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in. 
And  bade  him  follow;  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd,  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Caesar  cried,  "  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink." 
I,  as  -^neas,  our  great  ancestor. 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 
Did  I  the  tired  Caesar.     And  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And  when  the  fit  was  on  him  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake:  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake; 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly, 
And  that  same  eye  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world 
Did  lose  his  lustre.     I  did  hear  him  groan ; 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas!  it  cried,  "  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius," 
As  a  sick  girl. —  Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 


392  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  bear  the  palm  alone. 

Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 

Like  a  Colossus,  and  we  petty  men 

Walk  under  his  huge  legs  and  peep  about 

To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 

Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates; 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars. 

But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 

Brutus  and  Caesar:  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 

Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name; 

Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 

Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  'em, 

"  Brutus  '*  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  *'  Caesar.'' 

Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 

Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed. 

That  he  is  grown  so  great?   Age,  thou  art  sham'd! 

Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods! 

When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood. 

But  it  was  fam'd  with  more  than  with  one  man? 

When  could  they  say  till  now  that  talk'd  of  Rome 

That  her  wide  walls  encompass'd  but  one  man? 

Now  IS  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 

When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 

O,  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 

There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brook'd 

The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome 

As  easily  as  a  king! 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


THE  HUNTERS 

In  the  bright  October  morning 
Savoy's  Duke  had  left  his  bride; 

From  the  Castle,  past  the  drawbridge. 
Flowed  the  hunters'  merry  tide. 

Steeds   are   neighing,    gallants    glittering. 

Gay,  her  smiling  lord  to  greet, 
From  her  mullioned  chamber  casement 

Smiles  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 


MISCELLANEOUS  393 

From  Vienna  by  the  Danube 

Here  she  came,  a  bride,  in  spring. 
Now  the  autumn  crisps  the  forest; 

Hunters  gather,  bugles  ring. 

Hark!  the  game  ^s  on  foot,  they  scatter: 

Down  the  forest  riding  lone, 
Furious,  single  horsemen  gallop. 

Hark !  a  shout  —  a  crash  —  a  groan ! 

Pale  and  breathless,  came  the  hunters; 

On  the  turf,  dead  lies  the  boar, 
But  the  Duke  lies  stretched  beside  him, 

Senseless,  weltering  In  his  gore. 

In  the  dull  October  evening, 

Down   the  leaf -strewn   forest  road, 
To  the  Castle,  past  the  drawbridge. 

Came  the  hunters  with  their  load. 

In  the  hall,  with  sconces  blazing, 

Ladies  waiting  round  her  seat, 
Clothed  In  smiles,  beneath  the  dais 

Sat  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 

Hark!  below  the  gates  unbarring! 

Tramp  of  men  and  quick  commands !  — 
"  T  is  my  lord  come  back  from  hunting.'* 

And  the  Duchess  claps  her  hands. 

Slow  and  tired,  came  the  hunters; 

Stopped  in  darkness  in  the  court. — 
**  Ho,  this  way,  ye  laggard  hunters ! 

To  the  hall!    What  sport,  what  sport?  " 

Slow  they  entered  with  their  Master; 

In  the  hall  they  laid  him  down. 
On  his  coat  were  leaves  and  blood-stains, 

On  his  brow  an  angry  frown. 

Dead  her  princely  youthful  husband 

Lay  before  his  youthful  wife; 
Bloody  'neath  the  flaring  sconces: 

And  the  sight  froze  all  her  life. 


394  CHOICE  READINGS 

In  Vienna  by  the  Danube 
.  Kings  hold  revel,  gallants  meet. 
Gay  of  old  amid  the  gayest 
Was  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 

In  Vienna  by  the  Danube 

Feast  and  dance  her  youth  beguiled. 

Till  that  hour  she  never  sorrowed; 
But  from  then  she  never  smiled. 

—  Matthew  Arnold. 


SCENE  FROM  THE  LITTLE  MINISTER 

V7ithin  a  squirrel's  leap  of  the  wood,  an  old  woman  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  a  mud  house,  listening  for  the  approach  of  the 
trap  that  was  to  take  her  to  the  poorhouse.  It  was  Nanny  Web- 
ster. She  was  not  crying.  She  had  redd  up  her  house  for  the 
last  time,  and  put  on  her  black  merino.  Her  mouth  was  wide 
open  while  she  listened.  If  you  had  addressed  her,  you  would 
have  thought  her  polite  and  stupid.  When  she  heard  the  dog- 
cart she  screamed. 

No  neighbor  was  with  her.  If  you  think  this  hard,  it  is  be- 
cause you  do  not  understand.  Perhaps  Nanny  had  never  been 
very  lovable  except  to  one  man,  and  him,  it  is  said,  she  lost  through 
her  own  vanity. 

The  door  stood  open,  and  Nanny  was  crouching  against  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  room,  such  a  poor,  dull  kitchen,  that  you 
would  have  thought  the  furniture  had  still  to  be  brought  into  it. 
The  blanket  and  the  piece  of  old  carpet  that  was  Nanny's  cover- 
let were  already  packed  in  her  box.  The  plate  rack  was  empty. 
Only  the  round  table  and  the  two  chairs,  and  the  stools  and  some 
pans  were  being  left  behind. 

**  Well,  Nanny,"  said  Doctor  McQueen,  "  I  hA^e  come,  and 
you  see  Mr.  Dishart,  the  minister,  is  with  me." 

Nanny  rose  up  bravely.  She  knew  the  doctor  was  good  to 
her,  and  she  wanted  to  thank  him.  ''  Thank  you  kindly,  sirs," 
she  said.  "  Please  to  take  a  chair."  Both  men  sat  down.  The  doctor 
thought  it  best  they  should  depart  at  once,  and  so  he  rose. 

"  Oh,  no,  doctor,"  cried  Nanny  in  alarm. 

"  But  you  are  ready  ?  " 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS  395 


"  Ay,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  ready  this  twa  hours,  but  you 
micht  wait  a  minute.  Hendry  Munn  and  Andrew  Allardyce  is 
coming  yont  the  road,  and  they  would  see  me." 

''  Wait,  doctor,"  the  minister  said. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  answered  Nanny. 

"But,  Nanny,"  the  doctor  said,  ''you  must  remember  what 
I  told  you  about  the  poorhouse.  It  is  a  fine  place,  and  you  will 
be  very  happy  in  it." 

"  Ay,  I  11  be  happy  in  't,"  Nanny  faltered,  ''  but,  doctor,  if 
I  could  just  hae    bidden  on  here  though  I  wasna  happy!  " 

"Think  of  the  food  you  will  get;  broth  nearly  every  day." 

"  It  —  it  11  be  terrible  enjoyable,"  Nanny  said. 

"  And  there  will  be  pleasant  company  for  you  always,"  con- 
tinued the  doctor,  "  and  a  nice  room  to  sit  in.  Why,  after  you 
have  been  there  a  week,  you  won't  be  the  same  woman." 

"That's  it!"  cried  Nanny,  with  sudden  passion.  "  Na,  na; 
I  '11  be  a  woman  on  the  poor's  rates.  Oh,  mither,  mither,  you 
little  thocht  that  I  would  come  to  this !  " 

"  Nanny,  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  I  humbly  speir  your  forgiveness,  sir,  and  you  micht  bidf 
just  a  wee  yet.  I  've  been  ready  to  gang  this  twa  hours,  but  now 
that  the  machine  is  at  the  gate,  I  dinna  ken  how  it  is,  but  I  'm 
terrible  sweir  to  come  awa'.  Oh,  Mr.  Dishart,  it 's  richt  tru% 
what  the  doctor  says  about  the  —  the  place,  but  I  canna  just  taki 
it  in.     I  'm  —  I  'm  gey  auld." 

"  You  will  often  get  out  to  see  your  friends,"  said  the  minister^ 

"  Na,  na,  na,  dinna  say  that ;  I  '11  gang,  but  you  manna  biA 
me  ever  come  out,  except  in  a  hearse.  Dinna  let  onybody  ia 
Thrums  look  on  my  face  again." 

"  We  must  go,"  said  the  doctor  firmly.  "  Put  on  your  bonv 
net,  Nanny." 

She  took  the  bonnet  from  her  bed  and  put  it  on  slowly. 

"Are  you  sure  there's  naebody  looking?"  she  asked. 

The  doctor  glanced  at  the  minister,  and  he  arose. 

"  Let  us  pray,"  he  said ;  and  the  three  went  down  on  theii 
knees. 

It  was  not  the  custom  of  Auld  Licht  ministers  to  leave  any 
house  until  they  had  offered  up  a  prayer,  and  to  us  it  always 
seemed  that  when  the  little  minister  prayed  he  was  at  the  kneei 
of  God ;  but  now  Nan/Jy  wa.^  speaking  too,  and  her  words  choked 


S96  CHOICE  READINGS 

his.  At  first  she  only  whispered,  but  soon  what  was  eating  her 
heart  burst  out  painfully,  and  she  did  not  know  that  the  min- 
ister had  stopped.  They  were  such  moans  as  these  that  brought 
him  back  to  earth: 

"  I  '11  ha'e  to  gang I  'm  a  base  woman  no'  to 

be  mair  thankfu'  to  them  that  is  so  good  to  me Oh, 

mither!     ....     I  wish  terrible  they  had  come  and  ta'en  me 

at  nicht It 's  a  dog-cart,  and   I  was  praying  it 

micht  be  a  cart,  so  that  they  could  cover  me  wi'  straw.'* 

"  This  is  more  than  I  can  stand,"  the  doctor  cried. 

Nanny  rose  frightened. 

"  I  Ve  tried  you,  sair,"  she  said,  "  but,  oh,  I  'm  grateful,  and 
I  *m  ready  now." 

They  all  advanced  toward  the  door  without  another  word, 
and  Nanny  even  tried  to  smile.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
something  came  over  her,  and  she  stood  there.  The  minister 
took  her  hand,  and  it  was  cold.  She  looked  from  one  to  the 
other,  her  mouth  opening  and  shutting. 

**  I  canna  help  it,"  she  said. 

"  It 's  cruel  hard,"  muttered  the  doctor.  "  I  knew  this  woman 
when  she  was  a  lassie." 

The  little  minister  stretched  out  his  hands,  "  Have  pity  on 
her,  O  God!" 

Nanny  heard  the  words.   "  O,  God,"  she  cried,  "  you  micht!  " 

God  needs  no  minister  to  tell  him  what  to  do,  but  it  was  His 
will  that  the  poorhouse  should  not  have  this  woman.  He  made 
use  of  a  strange  instrument,  no  other  than  the  Egyptian,  who 
now  opened  the  mud  house  door. 

The  gypsy  had  been  passing  the  house,  perhaps  on  her  way  to 
Thrums  for  gossip,  and  it  was  only  curiosity,  born  suddenly  of  the 
minister's  cry,  that  made  her  enter. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  you,"  said  he  fiercely,  when  Nanny,  too 
distraught  to  think,  fell  crying  at  the  Egyptian's  feet. 

"  They  are  taking  me  to  the  poorhouse.  Dinna  let  them, 
dinna  let  them." 

"How  dare  you!"  cried  the  gypsy,  stamping  her  foot;  and 
they  quaked  like  malefactors. 

"You  don't  see "  the  minister  began,  but  her  indigna* 

tion  stopped  him. 

"  You  coward !  "  she  said. 


f 


MISCELLANEOUS  397 

"  This  IS  all  very  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  a  woman's 
sympathy " 

"A  woman!  Ah,  if  I  could  be  a  man  for  only  five  minutes! 
You  poor  dear,  I  won't  let  them  take  you  away.  Go!  "  she  said, 
looking  triumphantly  at  both  minister  and  doctor,  and  pointing 
grandly  to  the  door. 

"  Is  this  an  Egyptian,  or  is  she  a  queen  ?  "  the  doctor  said  in  a 
low  voice  to  the  minister.  "  Hoots,  man,  do  n't  look  so  shame- 
faced.    We  are  not  criminals.     Say  something." 

Then  to  the  Egyptian  the  little  minister  said  firmly,  "  You 
mean  well,  but  you  are  doing  this  poor  woman  a  cruelty  in  hold- 
ing out  hopes  to  her  that  cannot  be  realized.  Sympathy  is  not 
meal  and  bedclothes,  and  these  are  what  she  needs." 

"  And  you  who  live  in  luxury  would  send  her  to  the  poor- 
house  for  them.     I  thought  better  of  you." 

"Tuts!"  said  the  doctor,  losing  his  patience.  "Mr.  Dis- 
hart  gives  more  than  any  other  man  in  Thrums  to  the  poor,  and 
he  is  not  to  be  preached  to  by  a  gypsy.  We  are  waiting  for  you, 
Nanny." 

"  Ay,  I  'm  coming.  I  '11  hae  to  gang,  lassie.  Dinna  greet 
for  me." 

But  the  Egyptian  said,  "  No,  you  are  not  going.  It  is  these 
men  who  are  going.     Go,  sirs,  and  leave  us." 

"And  you  will  provide  for  Nanny?"  asked  the  doctor,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  where  is  the  siller  to  come  from?  " 

"That  is  my  affair,  and  Nanny's.  Begone,  both  of  you. 
She  shall  never  want  again.  See  how  the  very  mention  of  your 
going  brings  back  life  to  her  face." 

"  I  won't  begone,"  the  doctor  said  roughly,  "  till  I  see  the  color 
of  your  siller." 

"Oh!  the  money,"  said  the  Egyptian  scornfully.  She  put 
her  hand  into  her  pocket  confidently,  as  if  used  to  well-filled 
purses,  but  could  only  draw  out  two  silver  pieces.  "  I  had  for- 
gotten." „ 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  cynical  doctor.     "  Come,  Nanny. 

"You  presume  to  doubt  me!"  the  Egyptian  said,  blocking 
his  way  to  the  door.  ^ 

"  How  could  I  presume  to  believe  you?  "  he  answered.  You 
are  a  beggar  by  profession,  and  yet  talk  as  if  — Pooh,  nonsense. 


398  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  I  could  live  on  terrible  little,"  Nanny  whispered. 

"  Seven  shillings  a  week,"  rapped  out  the  doctor. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  the  Egyptian  asked.     "  She  shall  have  it." 

"When?" 

"  At  once.  No,  it  is  not  possible  to-night,  but  to-morrow  I 
will  bring  five  pounds;  no,  I  will  send  it;  no,  you  must  come  for 
it.  You  will  meet  me  to-morrow  about  this  hour  at — -say  the 
Kaims  of  Cushie?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.  Even  if  I  went  to  the  Kaims  I  should  not 
find  you  there." 

"  You  are  a  cruel,  hard  man,"  the  Egyptian  said,  beginning 
to  lose  hope.  "  But,  see,  look  at  this  ring.  Do  you  know  its 
value?" 

"  Mercy  on  us!  "  Nanny  cried;  "  I  believe  it 's  what  they  call 
a  diamond." 

"  See,  I  will  give  it  to  you  to  hold  in  hostage.  If  I  am  not 
at  the  Kaims  to  get  it  back,  you  can  keep  it." 

The  doctor  took  the  ring  in  his  hand  and  examined  it  curi- 
ously. 

"  There  is  a  quirk  in  this,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  I  do  n't 
like.  Take  back  your  ring,  lassie.  Mr.  Dishart,  give  Nanny  your 
arm  unless  you  trust  this  woman's  word." 

"  You  do  trust  me,"  the  Egyptian  said,  with  wet  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  firmly,  ''  I  trust  you ;  "  and  the  words  that  had 
been  so  difficult  to  say  were  the  right  words  — 

—  J.  M.  Barrie. 


CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE 

Conscript  Fathers: 
I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words; 
Let  that  Plebeian  talk,  't  is  not  my  trade ; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right, —  let  him  show  proofs, — 
For  Roman  right,  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.    Ay,  cluster  there! 
Cling  to  your  master,  judges,  Romans,  slaves/ 
His  charge  is  false;  —  I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer.    Let  my  actions  speak ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  399 

But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong. 
Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword, 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me, —  turning  out 
The  Roman  from  his  birthright;  and  for  what? 
To  fling  your  offices  to  every  slave! 
Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb, 
And,  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top 
Of  this  huge,  moldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below. 

Come,  consecrated  Lictors,  from  your  thrones; 

\_To  the  Senate. 
Fling  down  your  scepters;  take  the  rod  and  axe, 
And  make  the  murder  as  you  make  the  law. 

Banished  from  Rome !    What 's  banished  but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe? 
"Tried  and  convicted  traitor!"   Who  sa5^s  this? 
Who  11  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  ? 
Banished!    I  thank  you  for  't.     It  breaks  my  chain! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour; 
But  now  my  sword  's  my  own.    Smile  on,  my  Lords! 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes. 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you!  here  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face! 
Your  Consul 's  merciful ;  —  for  this  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline ! 

"Traitor!"     I  go;  but,  I  return!    This  — trial! 
Here  I  devote  your  Senate !     I  Ve  had  wrongs 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 
Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 
This  day  's  the  birth  of  sorrow;  this  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions!     Look  to  your  hearths,  my  Lords! 
For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods. 


400  CHOICE  READINGS 

Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus;  all  shames  and  crimes; 
Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. 

I  go ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone. 
I  go ;  but  when  I  come,  't  will  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake, —  rolling  back 
In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Fare  you  well! 
You  build  my  funeral-pile;  but  your  best  blood 

Shall  quench  its  flame!    Back,  slaves!  [To  the  Lictors, 

I  will  return. 

•—  George  Croly, 


GUINEVERE 


Queen  Guinevere  had  fled  the  court,  and  sat 
There  in  the  holy  house  at  Almesbury 
Weeping,  none  with  her  save  a  little  maid, 
A  novice:  one  low  light  betwixt  them  burn'd, 
Blurr'd  by  the  creeping  mist,  for  all  abroad, 
Beneath  a  moon  unseen  albeit  at  full, 
The  white  mist,  like  a  face-cloth  to  the  face. 
Clung  to  the  dead  earth,  and  the  land  was  still. 

And  while  the  Queen  sat  brooding  thus 
And  grew  half-guilty  in  her  thoughts  again. 
There  rode  an  armed  warrior  to  the  doors. 
A  murmuring  whisper  thro'  the  nunnery  ran, 
Then  on  a  sudden  a  cry,  "  The  King !  "     She  sat 
Stiff-stricken,  listening;  but  when  armed  feet 
Thro'  the  long  gallery  from  the  outer  doors 
Rang  coming,  prone  from  off  her  seat  she  fell, 
And  grovell'd  with  her  face  against  the  floor : 
There,  with  her  milk-white  arms  and  shadowy  hair, 
She  made  her  face  a  darkness  from  the  King: 


MISCELLANEOUS  401 

And  In  the  darkness  heard  his  armed  feet 
Pause  by  her;  then  came  silence,  then  a  voice, 
Monotonous  and  hollow  like  a  ghost's, 
Denouncing  judgment,  but  tho'  changed,  the  King's: 

"  Liest  thou  here  so  low,  the  child  of  one 
I  honor'd,  happy,  dead  before  thy  shame? 
Yet  think  not  that  I  come  to  urge  thy  crimes, 
I  did  not  come  to  curse  thee,  Guinevere, 
I,  whose  vast  pity  almost  makes  me  die 
To  see  thee,  laying  there  thy  golden  head. 
My  pride  in  happier  summers,  at  my  feet. 
The  wrath  w^hich  forced  my  thoughts  on  that  fiercv  law^ 
The  doom  of  treason  and  the  flaming  death 
(When  first  I  learnt  thee  hidden  here)  is  past. 
The  pang  —  which,  while  I  weigh'd  thy  heart  with  one 
Too  wholly  true  to  dream  untruth  in  thee. 
Made  my  tears  burn  —  is  also  past,  in  part. 
And  all  is  past,  the  sin  is  sinn'd,  and  I, 

Lo!  I  forgive  thee,  as  Eternal  God 
Forgives:  do  thou  for  thine  own  soul  the  rest. 
But  how  to  take  last  leave  of  all  I  loved? 

0  golden  hair,  with  which  I  used  to  play 
Not  knowing!  O  imperial-molded  form, 
And  beauty  such  as  woman  never  wore. 

Until  it  came  a  kingdom's  curse  with  thee  — 

1  cannot  touch  thy  lips,  they  are  not  mine, 

But  Lancelot's:  nay,  they  never  were  the  King's. 

I  cannot  take  thy  hand;  that,  too,  is  flesh, 

And  in  the  flesh  thou  hast  sinn'd ;  and  mine  own  flcskj 

Here  looking  down  on  thine  polluted,  cries, 

*  I  loathe  thee: '  yet  not  less,  O  Guinevere, 

For  I  was  ever  virgin  save  for  thee. 

My  love  thro'  flesh  hath  wrought  into  my  life 

So  far,  that  my  doom  is,  I  love  thee  still. 

Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still. 

Perchance,  and  so  thou  purify  thy  soul, 

And  so  thou  lean  on  our  fair  father  Christ, 

Hereafter  in  that  world  where  all  are  pure 

We  two  may  meet  before  high  God,  and  thou 


402  CHOICE  READINGS 

Wilt  spring  to  me,  and  claim  me  thine,  and  know 

I  am  thine  husband  —  not  a  smaller  soul, 

Nor  Lancelot,  nor  another.     Leave  me  that, 

I  charge  thee,  my  last  hope.    Now  must  I  hence. 

Thro'  the  thick  night  I  hear  the  trumpet  blow: 

They  summon  me,  their  King,  to  lead  mine  hosts 

Far  down  to  that  great  battle  in  the  west, 

Where  I  must  strike  again  the  man  they  call 

My  sister's  son  —  and  strike  him  dead,  and  meet  myself 

Death,  or  I  know  not  what  mysterious  doom. 

And  thou  remaining  here  wilt  learn  the  event; 

But  hither  shall  I  never  come  again. 

Never  lie  by  thy  side;  see  thee  no  more  — 

Farewell!" 

And  while  she  grovell'd  at  his  feet, 
She  felt  the  King's  breath  wander  o'er  her  neck, 
And  in  the  darkness  o'er  her  fallen  head, 
Perceived  the  waving  of  his  hands  that  blest. 

Then,  listening  till  those  armed  steps  were  gone, 
Rose  the  pale  Queen,  and  in  her  anguish  found 
The  casement. 

Then  she  stretched  out  her  arms  and  cried  aloud : 

"  Gone  —  my  lord ! 
Gone  thro'  my  sin  to  slay  and  to  be  slain! 
And  he  forgave  me,  and  I  could  not  speak. 
Farewell?    I  should  have  answer'd  his  farewell. 
His  mercy  choked  me.     Gone,  my  lord,  the  King, 
My  own  true  lord!  how  dare  I  call  him  mine? 
The  shadow  of  another  cleaves  to  me, 
And  makes  me  one  pollution:  he,  the  King, 
Call'd  me  polluted:  shall  I  kill  myself? 
What  help  in  that?  I  cannot  kill  my  sin, 
If  soul  be  soul ;  nor  can  I  kill  my  shame ; 
No,  nor  by  living  can  I  live  it  down. 
The  days  will  grow  to  weeks,  the  weeks  to  months, 
The  months  will  add  themselves  and  make  the  yearSo 
The  years  will  roll  into  the  centuries, 
And  mine  will  ever  be  a  name  of  scorn. 


MISCELLANEOUS  408 

I  must  not  dwell  on  that  defeat  of  fame. 
Let  the  world  be;  that  is  but  of  the  world. 
What  else?  what  hope?  I  think  there  was  a  hope, 
Except  he  mock'd  me  when  he  spake  of  hope ; 
His  hope  he  call'd  it;  but  he  never  mocks, 
For  mockery  is  the  fume  of  little  hearts. 
And  blessed  be  the  King,  who  hath  forgiven 
My  wickedness  to  him,  and  let  me  hope 
That  in  mine  own  heart  I  can  live  down  sin 
And  be  his  mate  hereafter  in  the  heavens 
Before  high  God.    Ah,  great  and  gentle  lord, 
Who  wast,  as  is  the  conscience  of  a  saint 
Among  his  warring  senses,  to  thy  knights  — 
To  whom  my  false  voluptuous  pride,  that  took 
Full  easily  all  impressions  from  below, 
Would  not  look  up,  or  half-despised  the  height 
To  which  I  would  not  or  I  could  not  climb  — 
I  thought  I  could  not  breathe  in  that  fine  air 
That  pure  severity  of  perfect  light  — 
I  wanted  warmth  and  color  which  I  found 
In  Lancelot  —  now  I  see  thee  what  thou  art ; 
Thou  art  the  highest  and  most  human,  too. 
Not  Lancelot,  nor  another.     Is  there  none 
Will  tell  the  King  I  love  him  tho'  so  late? 
Now  —  ere  he  goes  to  the  great  battle?  none: 
Myself  must  tell  him  in  that  purer  life, 
But  now  it  were  too  daring.   Ah,  my  God, 
What  might  I  not  have  made  of  thy  fair  worl<y. 
Had  I  but  loved  thy  highest  creature  here? 
It  was  my  duty  to  have  loved  the  higb^t: 
It  surely  was  my  profit  had  I  known: 
It  would  have  been  my  pleasure  h^d  I  seen. 
We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see  It, 
Not  Lancelot,  nor  another." 

—  Lord  Tynnysiy^m 


404  CHOICE  READINGS 

ECHO  AND  THE  FERRY 

Ay,  Oliver!  I  was  but  seven,  and  he  was  eleven; 

He  looked  at  me  pouting  and  rosy.     I  blushed  where  I  stood. 

They  had  told  us  to  play  in  the  orchard  (and  I  only  seven! 

A  small  guest  at  the  farm) ;  but  he  said,  "  Oh!  a  girl  was  no 

good!" 
So  he  whistled  and  went,  he  went  over  the  stile  to  the  wood. 
It  was  sad,  it  was  sorrowful !   Only  a  girl  —  only  seven ! 
At  home  in  the  dark  London  smoke  I  had  not  found  it  out. 
The  pear-trees  looked  on  in  their  white,  and  bluebirds   flashed 

about. 
And  they,  too,  were  angry  as  Oliver.     Were  they  eleven? 
I  thought  so.     Yes,  every  one  else  was  eleven  —  eleven  I 

So  Oliver  went,  but  the  cowslips  were  tall  at  my  feet. 

And  all  the  white  orchard  with  fast-falling  blossom  was  littered; 

And  under  and  over  the  branches  those  little  birds  twittered. 

While  hanging  head  downward  they  scolded  because  I  was  seven. 

A  pity  —  a  very  great  pity.     One  should  be  eleven. 

But  soon  I  was  happy,  the  smell  of  the  world  was  so  sweet, 

And  I  saw  a  round  hole  in  an  apple-tree  rosy  and  old. 

Then  I  knew,  for  I  peeped,  and  I  felt  it  was  right  they  should 

scold. 
Eggs  small  and  eggs  many.   For  gladness  I  broke  into  laughter ; 
And  then  some  one  else  —  oh ;  how  softly !  —  came  after,  came 

after 

With  laughter  —  with  laughter  came  after. 

And  no  one  was  near  us  to  utter  that  sweet,  mocking  call, 
That  soon  very  tired  sank  low  with  a  mystical  fall. 
But  this  was  the  country  —  perhaps  it  was  close  under  heaven; 
Oh!  nothing  so  likely;  the  voice  might  have  come  from  it  even* 
I  knew  about  heaven.    But  this  was  the  country,  of  this 
Light,  blossom,  and  piping,  and  flashing  of  wings  not  at  all. 
Not  at  all.    No.    But  one  little  bird  was  an  easy  forgiven 
She  peeped,  she  drew  near  as  I  moved  from  her  domicile  small, 
Then  flashed  down  her  hole  like  a  dart  —  like  a  dart  from  the 

quiver, 
And  I  waded  atween  the  long  grasses,  and  felt  it  was  bliss. 


MISCELLANEOUS  405 

—  So  this  was  the  country;  clear  dazzle  of  azure  and  shiver 
And  whisper  of  leaves,  and  a  humming  all  over  the  tall 
White  branches,  a  humming  of  bees.  And  I  came  to  the  wall  — 
A  little,  low  wall  —  and  looked  over,  and  there  was  the  river. 
The  lane  that  led  on  to  the  village,  and  then  the  sweet  river, 
Clear  shining  and  slow,  she  had  far,  far  to  go  from  her  snow ; 
But  each  rush  gleamed  a  sword  in  the  sunlight  to  guard  her  long 

flow, 
And  she  murmured,  methought,  with  a  speech  very  soft  —  very 

low. 
''The  ways  will  be  long,  but  the  days  will  be  long,''  quoth  the 

river, 
''  To  me  a  long  liver,  long,  long!  "  quoth  the  river  —  the  river. 

I  dreamed  of  the  country  that  night,  of  the  orchard,  the  sky, 
The  voice  that  had  mocked  coming  after  and  over  and  under. 
But  at  last  —  in  a  day  or  two,  namely  —  Eleven  and  I 
Were  very  fast  friends,  and  to  him  I  confided  the  wonder. 
He  said  that  was  Echo.     "  Was  Echo  a  wise  kind  of  bee 
That  had  learned  how  to  laugh?    Could  it  laugh  in  one's  ear  and 

then  fly. 
And  laugh   again   yonder?"      "No;    Echo" — he   whispered    it 

low  — 
"  Was  a  woman,  they  said,  but  a  woman  whom  no  one  could  see 
And  no  one  could  find ;  and  he  did  not  believe  it,  not  he ; 
But  he  could  not  get  near  for  the  river  that  held  us  asunder. 
Yet  I  that  had  money  —  a  shilling,  a  whole  silver  shilling  — 
We  might  cross  if  I  thought  I  would  spend  it."     "  Oh !  yes,  I 

was  willing  " — 
And  we  ran  hand  in  hand ;  we  ran  down  to  the  ferry,  the  ferry, 
And  we  heard  how  she  mocked  at  the  folk  with  a  voice  clear  and 

merry 
When  they  called  for  the  ferry ;  but,  oh !  she  was  very  —  was  very 
Swift-footed.     She  spoke  and  was  gone;  and  when  Oliver  cried, 
"  Hie  over!  hie  over!  you  man  of  the  ferry —  the  ferry!  " 
By  the  still  water's  side  she  was  heard  far  and  wide  —  she  replied, 
And  she  mocked  in  her  voice  sweet  and  merry,  ''  You  man  of  the 

ferry, 
You  man  of  —  you  man  of  the  ferry !  " 


406  CHOICE  READINGS 

*'  Hie  over!  '*  he  shouted.    The  ferryman  came  at  his  calling; 
Across  the  clear  reed-bordered  river  he  ferried  us  fast. 
Such  a  chase!    Hand  in  hand,  foot  to  foot,  we  ran  on;  it  surpassed 
All  measure  her  doubling  —  so  close,  then  so  far  away  falling, 
Then  gone,  and  no  more.     Oh !  to  see  her  but  once  unaware, 
And  the  mouth  that  had  mocked;  but  we  might  not  (yet  sure  she 

was  there), 
Nor  behold  her  wild  eyes,  and  her  mystical  countenance  fair. 
We  sought  in  the  wood,  and  we  found  the  wood-wren  in  her  stead; 
In  the  field,  and  we  found  but  the  cuckoo  that  talked  overhead ; 
By  the  brook,   and  we   found   the   reed-sparrow   deep-nested,   in 

brown ; 
Not  Echo,  fair  Echo!  for  Echo,  sweet  Echo!  was  flown. 

So  we  came  to  the  place  where  the  dead  people  wait  till  God  call. 
The  church  was  among  them,  gray  moss  over  roof,  over  wall. 
Very  silent,  so  low.    And  we  stood  on  a  green,  grassy  mound 
And  looked  in  at  the  window,  for  Echo,  perhaps,  in  her  round 
Might  have  come  in  to  hide  there.   But,  no;  every  oak-carven  seat 
Was  empty.    We  saw  the  great  Bible  —  old,  old,  very  old, 
And  the  parson^s  great  Prayer-book  beside  it;  we  heard  the  slow 

beat 
Of  the  pendulum  swing  in  the  tower ;  we  saw  the  clear  gold 
Of  a  sunbeam  float  down  to  the  aisle,  and  then  waver  and  play 
On  the  low  chancel  step  and  the  railing;  and  Oliver  said, 
**  Look,  Katie !  look,  Katie !  when  Lettice  came  here  to  be  wed 
She  stood  where  that  sunbeam  drops  down,  and  all  white  was  her 

gown; 
And  she  stepped  upon  flowers  they  strewed  for  her." 

Then  quoth  small  Seven: 
**  Shall  I  wear  a  white  gown  and  have  flowers  to  walk  upon  ever?  " 
All  doubtful:  "  It  takes  a  long  time  to  grow  up,"  quoth  Eleven; 
*'  You  're  so  little,  you  know,  and  the  church  is  so  old,  it  can  never 
Last  on  till  you  *re  tall."  And  in  whispers  —  because  it  was  old 
And  holy,  and  fraught  with  strange  meaning,  half  felt,  but  not 

told. 
Full  of  old  parsons'  prayers,  who  were  dead,  of  old  days,  of  old 

folk. 
Neither  heard  nor  beheld,  b^t  about  us  —  in  whispers  we  spoke. 
Then  we  went  from  it  softly,  Mxd  'an  hand  in  hand  to  the  strand^ 


MISCELLANEOUS  407 

While  bleating  of  flocks  and  birds'  piping  made  sweeter  the  land. 
And  Echo  came  back  e'en  as  Oliver  drew  to  the  ferry. 

Ay,  here  —  it  was  here  that  we  woke  her,  the  Echo  of  old; 
All  life  of  that  day  seems  an  echo,  and  many  times  told. 
Shall  I  cross  by  the  ferry  to-morrow,  and  come  in  my  white 
To  that  little  low  church?  and  will  Oliver  meet  me  anon? 
Will  it  all  seem  an  echo  from  childhood  passed  over  —  passed  on  ? 

—  Jean  Ingelow, 


THE  VICTOR  OF  MARENGO 

Napoleon  was  sitting  in  his  tent;  before  him  lay  a  map  of 
Italy.  He  took  four  pins  and  stuck  th^m  up;  measured,  moved 
the  pins,  and  measured  again.  "  Now,*'  said  he,  "  that  is  right; 
I  will  capture  him  there!  " 

**  Who,  sir?  "  said  an  officer. 

"  Milas,  the  old  fox  of  Austria.  He  will  retire  from  Genoa,, 
pass  Turin,  and  fall  back  on  Alexandria.  I  shall  cross  the  Po, 
meet  him  on  the  plains  of  Laconia,  and  conquer  him  there,"  and 
the  finger  of  the  child  of  destiny  pointed  to  Marengo. 

Two  months  later  the  memorable  campaign  of  1800  began.. 
The  20th  of  May  saw  Napoleon  on  the  heights  of  St.  Bernards 
The  22d,  Larmes,  with  the  army  of  Genoa,  held  Padua.  So  far, 
all  had  been  well  with  Napoleon.  He  had  compelled  the  Austrians 
to  take  the  position  he  desired ;  reduced  the  army  from  one  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  to  forty  thousand  men;  dispatched  Murat 
to  the  right,  and  June  14th  moved  forward  to  consummate  his 
masterly  plan. 

But  God  threatened  to  overthrow  his  scheme !  A  little  rain  had 
fallen  in  the  Alps,  and  the  Po  could  not  be  crossed  in  time.  The 
battle  was  begun.  Milas,  pushed  to  the  wall,  resolved  to  cut  his 
way  out;  and  Napoleon  reached  the  field  to  see  Larmes  beaten, 
Champeaux  dead,  Desaix  still  charging  old  Milas,  with  his  Aus- 
trian phalanx  at  Marengo,  till  the  consular  guard  gave  way,  and 
the  well-planned  victory  was  a  terrible  defeat.  Just  as  the  day 
was  lost,  Desaix,  the  boy  General,  sweeping  across  the  field  at  the 
head  of  his  cavalry,  halted  on  the  eminence  where  stood  Napoleon. 
There  was  in  the  corps  a  drummer-boy,  a  gamin  whom  Desaix 
had  picked  up  in  the  streets  of  Paris,     He  had  followed  the  vie- 


408  CHOICE  READINGS 

torious  eagle  of  France  in  the  campaigns  of  Egypt  and  Germany. 
As  the  columns  halted,  Napoleon  shouted  to  him:  *' Beat  a  re- 
treat! " 

The  boy  did  not  stir. 

"Gamin,  beat  a  retreat!" 

The  boy  stopped,  grasped  his  drumsticks,  and  said:  "Sir,  I 
do  not  know  how  to  beat  a  retreat ;  Desaix  never  taught  me  that ; 
but  I  can  beat  a  charge, —  oh !  I  can  beat  a  charge  that  will  make 
the  dead  fall  into  line.  I  beat  that  charge  at  the  Pyramids ;  I  beat 
that  charge  at  Mount  Tabor;  I  beat  it  again  at  the  bridge  of  Lodi. 
May  I  beat  it  here  ?  " 

Napoleon  turned  to  Desaix,  and  said :  "  We  are  beaten ;  what 
shall  we  do?" 

"  Do  ?  Beat  them !  It  is  only  three  o'clock,  and  there  is  time 
enough  to  win  a  victory  yet.  Up !  the  charge !  beat  the  old  charge 
of  Mount  Tabor  and  Lodi !  " 

A  moment  later  the  corps,  following  the  sword-gleam  of  De- 
saix, and  keeping  step  with  the  furious  roll  of  the  gamin's  drum, 
swept  down  on  the  host  of  Austrians.  They  drove  the  first  line 
back  on  the  second  —  both  on  the  third,  and  there  they  died.  De- 
saix fell  at  the  first  volley,  but  the  line  never  faltered,  and  as  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  the  gamin  was  seen  in  front  of  his  line 
marching  right  on,  and  still  beating  the  furious  charge.  Over  the 
dead  and  wounded,  over  breastworks  and  fallen  foe,  over  cannon 
belching  forth  their  fire  of  death,  he  led  the  way  to  victory,  and 
the  fifteen  days  in  Italy  were  ended.  To-day  men  point  to  Ma- 
rengo in  wonder.  They  admire  the  power  and  foresight  that  so 
skillfully  handled  the  battle,  but  they  forget  that  a  general  only 
thirty  years  of  age  made  a  victory  of  a  defeat.  They  forget  that 
a  gamin  of  Paris  put  to  shame  "  the  child  of  destiny." 

—  Anonymous, 


MAMMY'S  LI'L'  BOY 

Who  all  time  dodgin'  en  de  cott'n  en  de  corn? 

Mammy's  li'l'  boy,  mammy's  li'l'  boy ! 
Who  all  time  stealin'  ole  massa's  dinner-horn  ? 

Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 


MISCELLANEOUS  409 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 
By-oliT  boy! 
Oh,  run  ter  es  mammy 
En  she  tek  'im  in  'er  arms, 
Mammy's  liT  baby  boy. 

Who  all  time  runnin'  ole  gobble  roun'  de  yard? 

Mammy's  li'l'  boy,  mammy's  liT  boy ! 
Who  tek  'e  stick  'n  hit  ole  possum  dog  so  hard? 

Mammy's  liT  baby  boy. 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 
By-o  li'l'  boy! 
Oh,  run  ter  es  mammy 
En  climb  up  en  'er  lap. 
Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Who  all  time  stumpin*  es  toe  ergin  er  rock? 

Mammy's  li'l'  boy,  mammy's  li'l'  boy! 
Who  all  the  time  er-rippin'  big  hole  en  es  frock? 

Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 
By-o  li'l'  boy! 
Oh,  run  ter  es  mammy 
En  she  wipe  es  li'l'  eyes. 
Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Who  all  time  er-losin'  de  shovel  en  de  rake? 

Mammy's  li'l'  boy,  mammy's  li'l'  boy! 
Who  all  de  time  tryin'  ter  ride  'e  lazy  drake? 

Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 
By-o  li'l'  boy! 
Oh,  scoot  fer  yer  mammy 
En  she  hide  yer  f  om  yer  ma. 
Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Who  all  de  time  er-trottin'  ter  de  kitchen  fer  er  bite? 

Mammy's  li'l'  boy,  mammy's  li'l'  boy! 
Who  mess  'esef  wi'  taters  twell  his  clothes  dey  look  er 
sight? 

Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 


410  CHOICE  READINGS 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 

By-o  liT  boy! 

En  'e  run  ter  es  mammy 

Fer  ter  git  'im  out  er  trouble, 

Mammy's  lil'  baby  boy. 

Who  all  time  er-frettin'  en  de  middle  er  de  day? 

Mammy's  liT  boy,  mammy's  li'l'  boy! 
Who  all  time  er-gettin'  so  sleepy  'e  can't  play? 

Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 

Byo  baby  boy,  oh  bye, 
By-o  li'l'  boy! 
En  'e  come  ter  es  mammy 
Ter  rock  'im  en  'er  arms, 
Mammy's  li'l'  baby  boy. 
Shoo,  shoo,  shoo-shoo-shoo, 
Shoo,  shoo,  shoo! 

Shoo,  shoo,  shoo-shoo-shoo, 
Shoo,  li'r  baby,  shoo! 
Shoo,  shoo,  shoo-shoo-shoo, 
Shoo,  shoo,  shoo. 
Shoo     •     •     •     • 

Deir  now,  lay  right  down  on. mammy's  bed  en  go  'long  back 
ter  sleep, —  shoo-shoo ! 

—  H,  S,  Edwards. 


MRS.  LOFTY  AND  I 

Mrs.  Lofty  keeps  a  carriage. 

So  do  I; 
She  has  dapple  grays  to  draw  it. 

None  have  I  ; 
She  's  no  prouder  with  her  coachman 

Than  am  I 
With  my  blue-eyed  laughing  baby. 

Trundling  by; 
I  hide  his  face  lest  she  should  see 
The  cherub  boy,  and  envy  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS  4H 

Her  fine  husband  has  white  fingers, 

Mine  has  not; 
He  could  give  his  bride  a  palace, — 

Mine  a  cot; 
Hers  comes  home  beneath  the  starlight. 

Ne'er  cares  she; 
Mine  comes  home  in  the  purple  twilight, 

Kisses  me,  • 

And  prays  that  He  who  turns  life's  sands 
Will  hold  His  loved  ones  in  His  hands. 

Mrs.  Lofty  has  her  jewels, 

So  have  I; 
She  wears  hers  upon  her  bosom, — 

Inside  I; 
She  will  leave  hers  at  Death's  portal, 

By-and-by ; 
I  shall  bear  my  treasure  with  me  ^ 

When  I  die; 
For  I  have  love,  and  she  has  gold; 
She  counts  her  wealth ;  —  mine  can't  be  told. 

She  has  those  who  love  her  station, 

None  have  I; 
But  I  've  one  true  heart  beside  me  — 

Glad  am  I; 
I  'd  not  change  it  for  a  kingdom, 

No,  not  I; 
God  will  weigh  it  in  his  balance, 

By-and-by ; 
And  the  difference  define 
^Twixt  Mrs.  Lofty 's  wealth  and  mine. 

—  Anonymous, 


THE  GRAY  SWAN 

**  O,  tell  me,  sailor,  tell  me  true. 
Is  my  little  lad,  my  Elihu, 
A-sailing  with  your  ship  ?  ■' 


412  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  sailor's  eyes  were  dim  with  dew:; 

"  Your  little  lad,  your  Elihu?  " 
He  said  with  trembling  lip: 
"What  little  lad?    What  ship?" 

"  What  little  lad?  as  if  there  could  bie 
Another  such  a  one  as  he! 
•  What  little  lad,  do  you  say? 

Why,  Elihu,  that  took  to  the  sea 
The  moment  I  put  him  off  my  knee ! 
It  was  just   the  other   day 
The  Gray  Swan  sailed  away !  *' 

"  The  other  day?  " —  the  sailor's  eyes 
Stood  open  with  a  great  surprise, — 

"The  other  day?  the  Swan?" 
His  heart  began  in  his  throat  to  rise. 
"Ay,  ay,  sir!  here  In  the  cupboard  lies 

The  jacket  he  had  on !  " 

"  And  so  your  lad  is  gone  ? 

"  But,  my  good  mother,  do  you  know 
All  this  was  twenty  years  ago? 

/  stood  on  the  Gray  Swan's  deck, 
And  to  that  lad  I  saw  you  throw. 
Taking  it  off,  as  it  might  be,  so! 
The  kerchief  from  your  neck.'* 
"Ay,  and  he '11  bring  it  back! '* 

"  And  did  the  little  lawless  lad. 

That  has  made  you  sick  and  made  you  sad. 

Sail  with  the  Gray  Swan's  crew  ?  " 
"  Lawless !  The  man  is  going  mad ! 
The  best  boy  ever  mother  had ;  — 

Be  sure  he  sailed  with  the  crew! 

What  would  you  have  him  do?  " 

"  And  he  has  never  written  line, 
Nor  sent  you  word,  nor  made  you  sign, 
To  say  he  was  alive  ?  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  413 

**  Hold !  if  't  was  wrong,  the  wrong  is  mine ; 
Besides,  he  may  be  in  the  brine; 

And  could  he  write  from  the  grave? 

Tut,  man !    What  would  you  have  ?  *' 

"  Gone,  twenty  years, —  a  long,  long  cruise ! 
'T  was  wicked  thus  your  love  to  abuse ! 

But  if  the  lad  still  live, 
And  come  back  home,  think  you,  you  can 
Forgive  him?" — "Miserable  man! 

You  're  mad  as  the  sea, —  you  rave. 

What  have  I  to  forgive?  '' 

The  sailor  twitched  his  shirt  so  blue, 
And  from  within  his  bosom  drew 

The  kerchief.  She  was  wild, 
*'  O  God,  my  Father!  is  it  true? 
My  little  lad,  my  Elihu! 

My  blessed  boy,  my  child! 

My  dead,  my  living  child !  '' 

—  Alice  Gary. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA 

I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying, 
Ebbs  the  crimson  life-tide  fast, 
And  the  dark  Plutonian  shadows 
Gather  on  the  evening  blast; 
Let  thine  arm,  oh  Queen,  enfold  me, 
Hush  thy  sobs  and  bow  thine  ear, 
Listen  to  the  great  heart  secrets 
Thou,  and  thou  alone,  must  hear. 

Though  my  scarred  and  veteran  legions 
Bear  their  eagles  high  no  more, 
And  my  wrecked  and  scattered  galleys 
Strew  dark  Actium's  fatal  shore; 
Though  no  glittering  guards  surround  me, 
Prompt  to  do  their  master's  will, 
I  must  perish  like  a  Roman, 
Die  the  great  Triumvir  still. 


414  CHOICE  READINGS 

Let  not  Caesar's  servile  minions 
Mock  the  lion  thus  laid  low ; 
'T  was  no  foeman's  arm  that  felled  him^ 
'T  was  his  own  that  struck  the  blow  — 
His  who,  pillowed  on  thy  bosom, 
Turned  aside  from  glory's  ray  — 
His  who,  drunk  with  thy  caresses, 
Madly  threw  a  world  away. 

Should  the  base  plebeian  rabble 
Dare  assail  my  name  at  Rome, 
Where  the  noble  spouse,  Octavia, 
Weeps  within  her  widowed  home, 
Seek  her ;  say  the  gods  bear  witness. 
Altars,  augurs,  circling  wings. 
That  her  blood,  with  mine  commingled^ 
Yet  shall  mount  the  thrones  of  kings. 

And  for  thee,  star-eyed  Egyptian! 
Glorious  sorceress  of  the  Nile, 
Light  the  path  to  Stygian  horrors 
With  the  splendors  of  thy  smile  ; 
Give  the  Caesar  crowns  and  arches, 
Let  his  brow  the  laurel  twine, 
I  can  scorn  the  senate's  triumphs, 
Triumphing  in  love  like  thine. 

I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying; 
Hark!  the  insulting  foeman's  cry. 
They  are  coming;  quick,  my  falchion, 
Let  me  front  them  ere  I  die. 
Ah,  no  more  amid  the  battle 
Shall  my  heart  exulting  swell, 
Isis  and  Osiris  guard  thee, 
Cleopatra,  Rome,  farewell! 

—  Wm.  H.  Lytle. 


MISCELLANEOUS  415 

GUNGA  DIN 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  and  beer 

When  you  Ve  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 

An'  you  're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Aldershot  it ; 

But  when  it  comes  to  slaughter 

You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 

An'  you  '11  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im  that 's  got  it, 

Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 

Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 

A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 

Of  all  them  blackfaced  crew 

The  finest  man  I  knew 

Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din.  ^ 

He  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 

You  limping  lump  o'  brick-dust,  Gunga  Din! 

Hi !  slippery  hitherao ! 

Water,  get  it!     Panee  lao! 

You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din." 

The  uniform  'e  wore 

Was  nothin'  much  before, 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind. 

For  a  piece  o'  twisty  rag 

An'  a  goatskin  water-bag 

Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 

When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 

In  a  sidin'  through  the  day. 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin'  eyebrows  crawl, 

We  shouted  "  Harry  By!  " 

Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry, 

Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  could  n't  serve  us  all. 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 

You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave  you  been  ? 

You  put  some  juldee  in  it 

Or  I  '11  marrow  you  this  minute 

If  you  do  n't  fill  up  my  helmet,  Gunga  Din!  " 

*E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 
Till  the  longest  day  was  done; 
An*  'e  did  n't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 


416  CHOICE  READINGS 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 
You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 
'E  'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 
With  'is  mussick  on  'is  back, 
'E  would  skip  with  our  attack. 
An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "  Retire," 
An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 
'E  was  white,  clear  w^hite,  inside 
When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire ! 
It  was  '^Din!  Din!  Din!" 
With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the  green. 
When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  hear  the  front-nles  shout, 
"  Hi!  ammunition-mules  an'  Gunga  Din!  " 

I  sha'  n't  forgit  the  night 
When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should  'a'  been. 
I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst, 
An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 

Was  our  good  old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga  Din. 
'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 
An'  he  plugged  me  where  I  bled. 

An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water-green: 
It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk, 
But  of  all  the  drinks  I  've  drunk, 

I  'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 
It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din!" 

'Ere  's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is  spleen ; 
'E  's  chawin'  up  the  ground. 
An'   'e  's  kickin'  all  around : 

For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga  Din ! 

*E  carried  me  away 

To  where  a  dooli  lay. 
An*  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

An'  just  before  'e  died: 
"  I  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,"  sez  Gunga  Din. 

So  I  '11  meet  'im  later  on 

At  the  place  where  'e  is  gone  — 


MISCELLANEOUS  417 

Where  it  *s  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen ; 

'E  '11  be  squattin'  on  the  coals, 

Givin'  drink  to  poor  damned  souls, 
An'  I  '11  get  a  swig  in  hell  from  Gunga  Din! 

Yes,  Din!  Din!  Din! 
You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din! 

Though  I  've  belted  you  and  flayed  you, 

By  the  living  God  that  made  you, 
You  're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga  Din  I 

—  Rudyard  Kipling. 


SONG  OF  THE  GREEK  BARD 

The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung, 
Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace, — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phcebus  sprung! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet. 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse. 
The  hero's  harp,  the  lover's  lute, 

Have  found  the  fame  your  shores  refuse; 
Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 

Than  your  sires'  "  Islands  of  the  Blest." 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon  — 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea; 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dream'd  that  Greece  might  still  be  free; 

For  standing  on  the  Persians'  grave, 

I  could  not    deem  myself  a  slave. 

A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis; 

And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below, 
And  men  in  nations;  —  all  were  his! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day  — 

And  when  the  sun  set  where  were  they? 


418  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  where  are  they?    And  where  art  thou, 
My  country?    On  thy  voiceless  shore 

The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now  — 
The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more! 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine? 

Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blest? 

Must  we  but  blush?    Our  fathers  bled. 
Earth!  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead! 
Of  the  three  hundred  grant  but  three, 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylae! 

What,  silent  still?  and  silent  all? 

Ah!  no;  —  the  voices  of  the  dead 
Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall. 

And  answer,  "  Let  one  living  head. 
But  one,  arise, —  we  come,  we  come !  " 
'T  is  but  the  living  who  are  dumb. 

In  vain  —  in  vain ;  —  strike  other  chords ; 

Fill  high  the  cup  of  Samian  wine! 
Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordes, 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio's  vine! 
Hark !  rising  to  the  ignoble  call  — 
How  answers  each  bold  Bacchanal! 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet. 
Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone? 

Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 
The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one? 

You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave  — 

Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a  slave? 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade  — 
T  see  their  glorious  black  eyes  shine; 

But  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid, 
My  own  the  burning  tear-drop  laves, 
To  think  such  breasts  must  suckle  slaves. 


MISCELLANEOUS  419 

Place  me  on  Sunium's  marbled  steep, 

Where  nothing,  save  the  waves  and  I, 
May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep; 

There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die: 
A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  be  mine  — 
Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine! 

—  Lord  Byron. 


JIM  BLUDSOE 

Wall,  no!  I  can^t  tell  where  he  lives, 

Because  he  do  n't  live,  you  see ; 
Leastways,  he  's  got  out  of  the  habit 

Of  livin'  like  you  and  me. 
Whar  have  you  been  for  the  last  three  years, 

TTiat  you  have  n't  heard  folks  tell 
How  Jimmy  Bludsoe  passed  in  his  checks. 

The  night  of  the  Prairie  Belle? 

He  war  n't  no  saint  —  them  engineers 

Is  all  pretty  much  alike  — 
One  wife  in  Natchez-Under-the-Hill, 

And  another  one  here  in  Pike. 
A  careless  man  in  his  talk  was  Jim, 

And  an  awkward  man  in  a  row  — 
But  he  never  flunked,  and  he  never  lied  — 

I  reckon  he  never  knowed  how. 

And  this  was  all  the  religion  he  had  — 

To  treat  his  engine  well; 
Never  be  passed  on  the  river; 

To  mind  the  pilot's  bell ; 
And  if  ever  the  Prairie  Belle  took  fire, 

A  thousand  times  he  swore. 
He  'd  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  soul  got  ashore. 

All  boats  has  their  day  on  the  Mississip*, 

And  her  day  came  at  last  — 
The  Movastar  was  a  better  boat. 

But  the  Belle,  she  would  n't  be  passed, 


420  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  so  came  a-tearin'  along  that  night, 

The  oldest  craft  on  the  line, 
With  a  nigger  squat  on  her  safety-valve. 

And  her  furnaces  crammed,  rosin  and  pine. 

The  fire  burst  out  as  she  cleared  the  bar, 

And  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night. 
And  quick  as  a  flash  she  turned  and  made 

For  that  wilier-bank  on  the  right. 
Ther'  was  runnin'  and  cursin',  but  Jim  yelled  out 

Over  all  the  infernal  roar, 
"  I  '11  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  galoot's  ashore." 

Thro'  the  hot  black  breath  of  the  burnin'  boat 

Jim  Bludsoe's  voice  was  heard. 
And  they  all  had  trust  in  his  cussedness. 

And  know'd  he  would  keep  his  word. 
And  sure  's  you  're  born,  they  all  got  oS 

Afore  the  smokestacks  fell. 
And  Bludsoe's  ghost  went  up  alone 

In  the  smoke  of  Prairie  Belle. 

He  war  n't  no  saint  —  but  at  judgment 

I  'd  run  my  chance  with  Jim 
Longside  of  some  pious  gentleman 

That  would  n't  shook  hands  with  him. 
He  'd  seen  his  duty,  a  dead  sure  thing, 

And  went  fer  it  thar  and  then ; 
And  Christ  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  too  hard 

On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 

—  John  Hay. 


THE  QUARREL  OF  BRUTUS  AND  CASSIUS 

Cas.  That  you  have  wronged  me  doth  appear  in  this: 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 

Bru.  You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 


MISCELLANEOUS  421 

Cas.  In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  his  comment. 

Bru,  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condenined  to  have  an  itching  palm, 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold, 
To  undeservers. 

Cas.  I  an  itching  palm? 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  vv^ere  else  your  last. 

Bru.  The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cas.  Chastisement! 

Bru.  Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember! 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake? 
What  villain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice?    What!  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  w^orld, 
But  for  supporting  robbers, —  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cos.  Brutus,  bay  not  me, 

1 11  not  endure  it:  you  forget  yourself. 
To  hedge  me  in;  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru,  Go  to;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cos.  I  am. 

Bru,  I  say  you  are  not. 

Cos,  Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself: 
Have  mind  upon  your  health;  tempt  me  no  further. 

Bru,  Away,  slight  man! 

Cas,  Is  *t  possible  ? 

Bru,  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares? 

Cas,  O  ye  gods!  ye  gods!    Must  I  endure  all  this? 

Bru.  All  this?  ay,  more:  Fret,  till  your  proud  heart  break; 


422  CHOICE  READINGS 

Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.    Must  I  budge? 
Must  I  observe  you?    Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor?    By  the  gods, 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen. 
Though  ft  do  split  you ;  for  from  this  day  forth 
1 11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cos.  Is  it  come  to  this? 

Bru.  You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier: 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well:  For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cos,  You  wrong  me,  every  way  you  wrong  me,  Brutus; 
I  said  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better; 
Did  I  say,  better? 

Bru.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cos.  When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 

Bru.  Peace,  peace!  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cos.  I  durst  not? 

Bru.  No. 

Cos.  What!  durst  not  tempt  him? 

Bru.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cos,  Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru.  You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats; 
For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty, 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind. 
Which  I  respect  not.    I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me;  — 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means: 
By  Heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart. 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash. 
By  any  indirection.    I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 
Which  you  denied  me:  Was  that  done  like  Cassius? 
Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 


MISCELLANEOUS  423 

To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Dash  him  to  pieces! 

Cas.  I  denied  you  not. 

Bru.  You  did. 

Cas,  I  did  not :  —  he  was  but  a  fool 

That  brought  my  answer  back. —  Brutus  hath  rived  my  heart: 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Bru.  I  do  not,  till  you  practise  them  on  me. 

Cas.  You  love  me  not. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cas.  A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru.  A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cas.  Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come. 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  a-weary  of  the  world: 
Hated  by  one  he  loves;  braved  by  his  brother; 
Checked  like  a  bondman ;  all  his  faults  observed, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learned  and  conned  by  rote. 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.    O,  I  could  weep 
My  spirit  from  mine  eyes !  —  There  is  my  dagger, 
And  here  my  naked  breast;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold: 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart. 
Strike  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar;  for  I  know, 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst  him  better 
Than  ever  thou  lov'dst  Cassius. 

Bru.  Sheath  your   dagger: 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger,  as  the  flint  bears  fire; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark. 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas.  Hath  Cassius  lived 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-tempered,  vexeth  him? 


424  CHOICE  READINGS 

Bru,  When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-tempered  too. 

Cas,  Do  you  confess  so  much  ?    Give  me  your  hand. 

Bru.  And  my  heart  too. 

Cas.  O  Brutus!  — 

Bru,  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Cas.  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  w^ith  me, 
When  that  rash  humor  v^hich  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful? 

Bru.  Yes,  Cassius ;  and  from  henceforth, 

When  you  are  over-earnest  w^ith  your  Brutus, 
He  '11  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


SHAN  VAN  VOCHT 

Shan  Van  Vocht:  an  Irish  phrase  meaning  the  Poor  Old  Woman;  here 
personifying  Ireland.    The  song  was  written  just  before  the  Irish  rebellion 


of  1798. 


The  sainted  isle  of  old, 
The  parent  and  the  mould 
•  Of  the  beautiful  and  bold, 
Has  her  sainted  heart  waxed  cold? 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

Oh!  the  French  are  on  the  say. 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 

The  French  are  on  the  say, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

Oh!  the  French  are  in  the  bay; 

They  '11  be  here  without  delay, 

And  the  Orange  will  decay. 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

And  where  will  they  have  their  camp? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
WTiere  will  they  have  their  camp? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
On  the  Currach  of  Kildare; 
The  boys  they  will  be  there 
With  their  pikes  in  good  repair. 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 


MISCELLANEOUS  425 

Then  what  will  the  yeomen  do? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
What  will  the  yeomen  do? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
What  should  the  yeomen  do, 
But  throw  off  the  red  and  blue, 
And  swear  that  they  '11  be  true 

To  the  Shan  Van  Vocht? 

And  what  color  will  they  wear? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
What  color  will  they  wear? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
What  color  should  be  seen, 
Where  our  fathers'  homes  have  been, 
But  our  own  immortal  green? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

And  will  Ireland  then  be  free? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht; 
Will  Ireland  then  be  free? 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 
Yes!  Ireland  shall  be  free, 
From  the  centre  to  the  sea; 
Then  hurrah  for  liberty! 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

—  Anonymous, 


RIENZI  TO  THE  ROMANS 

Friends ! 

I  come  not  here  to  talk.    Ye  know  too  well 

The  story  of  our  thraldom.    We  are  slaves! 

The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights 

A  race  of  slaves !  he  sets,  and  his  last  beam 

Falls  on  a  slave!    Not  such  as  swept  along 

By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  leads 

To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame. 

But  base,  ignoble  slaves !  —  slaves  to  a  horde 

Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots;  lords 


426  CHOICE  READINGS 

Rich  in  some  dozen  paltiy  villages, 

Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen,  only  great 

In  that  strange  spell, —  a  name !    Each  hour,  dark  fraud. 

Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder. 

Cries  out  against  them.    But  this  very  day 

An  honest  man,  my  neighbor, —  there  he  stands, — 

Was  struck  —  struck  like  a  dog  —  by  one  v^ho  wore 

The  badge  of  Ursini!  because,  forsooth. 

He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 

Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts. 

At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian !    Be  we  men, 

And  suffei:  such  dishonor?  men,  and  veash  not 

The  stain  away  in  blood?  such  shames  are  common. 

I  have  known  deeper  wrongs.     I  that  speak  to  ye  — 

I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy, 

Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope. 

Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy;  there  was  the  look 

Of  heaven  upon  his  face  which  limners  give 

To  the  beloved  disciple.    How  I  loved 

That  gracious  boy!  younger  by  fifteen  years, 

Brother  at  once  and  son !    He  left  my  side, — 

A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks,  a  smile 

Parting  his  innocent  lips.    In  one  short  hour 

The  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain!     I  saw 

The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 

For  vengeance!     Rouse,  ye  Romans!     Rouse,  ye  slaves! 

Have  ye  brave  sons  ?  —  Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 

To  see  them  die !     Have  ye  fair  daughters  ?  —  Look 

To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  disdained. 

Dishonored;  and,  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice, 

Be  answered  by  the  lash !    Yet  this  is  Rome, 

That  sate  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 

Of  beauty  ruled  the  world!     Yet  we  are  Romans. 

Why,  in  that  elder  day  to  be  a  Roman 

Was  greater  than  a  king!    And  once  again —  ** 

Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 

Of  either  Brutus!  —  once  again  I  swear 

The  eternal  city  shall  be  free! 

—  Mary  Russell  M  it  ford. 


MISCELLANEOUS  427 

LOCHINVAR 

O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And,  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapon  had  non^ 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone.  - 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 

He  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford  there  was  none, 

But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 

The  bride  had  consented^  the  gallant  came  late ; 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  aiid  a  dastard  in  war. 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all.  — — 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 

*^  O,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?  " 

**  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ;  — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebjis  like  its  tide, — 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine; 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  mo£e  lovely  bj^iar, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet;  the  knight  took  it  up. 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh. 

With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye, 

He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 
**  Now  tread  we  a  measure,"  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  lygJorm,  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliar3  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume; 

And  the  bridemaidens  whispered,  "  'T  were  better  by  far 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar.*' 


428  CHOICE  READINGS 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood  nea/j 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung  ; 

"She  is  won!  we  are  gone!  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur; 

They  11  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  *mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan; 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  theyjran: 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  lea, 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see.       '"■"■^       ^ 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war; 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  PICKET  GUARD 

"All  quiet  along  the  Potomac,"  they  say, 
"  Except  now  and  then  a  stray  picket 

Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat,  to  and  fro. 
By  a  rifleman  off  in  the  thicket. 

**  'T  is  nothing  —  a  private  or  two,  now  and  then, 
Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  battle ; 

Not  an  officer  lost  —  only  one  of  the  men. 
Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death-rattle." 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night. 

Where  the  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming; 

Their  tents  m  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon. 
Or  the  light  of  the  watchfires  are  gleaming. 

A  tremulous  sigh,  as  the  gentle  night  wind 
Through  the   forest-leaves  softly  is  creeping; 

While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes. 
Keep  guard  —  for  the  army  is  sleeping. 

There  's  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry's  tread 
As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain, 

And  thinks  of  the  two  in  the  low  trundle-bed 
Far  away  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 


MISCELLANEOUS  429 

His  musket  falls  slack  —  his  face,  dark  and  grim, 

Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender, 
As  he  mutters  a  prayer  for  the  children  asleep  — 

For  their  mother  —  may  Heaven  defend  her! 

The  moon  seems  to  shine  just  as  brightly  as  then, 

That  night,  when  the  love  yet  unspoken 
Leaped  up  to  his  lips  —  when  low-murmured  vows 

Were  pledged  to  be  ever  unbroken. 

Then  drawing  his  sleeve  roughly  over  his  eyes, 

He  dashes  oS  tears  that  are  welling, 
And  gathers  his  gun  closer  up  to  its  place 

As  if  to  keep  down  the  heart-swelling. 

He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine-tree  — 

The  footstep  is  lagging  and  weary; 
Yet  onward  he  goes  through  the  broad  belt  of  light 

Toward  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 

Hark!  was  it  the  night-wind  that  rustled  the  leaves? 

Was   it   moonlight   so   wondrously   flashing? 
It  looked  like  a  rifle — ''  Ah!  Mary,  good-by!  " 

And  the  life-blood  is  ebbing  and  plashing. 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night. 

No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river; 
While  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 

The  picket 's  off  duty  forever. 

—  Mrs,  Ethel  Lynn  Beers. 


FOR  A'  THAT,  AND  A'  THAT 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty. 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
And  dare  be  poor,  for  a'  that; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Our  toils  obscure,  and  a*  that; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp; 
Tbe  man  's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 


i30  CHOICE  READINGS 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 
Wear  hodden-gray,  and  a'  that; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  winc^ 
A  man  's  a  man,  for  a'  that ; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that; 
The  honest  man,  tho*  ne'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'ed  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word. 
He  's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that ; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that; 
The  man  of  independent  mind. 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  king  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 
A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that; 
But  an  honest  man  's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith,  he  maunna  fa'  that! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  and  b!  that; 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 
Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a*  the  earth. 
May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that; 
For  a'  that,  and  a*  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that; 

That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 

—  Robert  Burnu 


MISCELLANEOUS  431 

MAGDALENA,  OR  THE  SPANISH  DUEL 

Near  the  city  of  Sevflla, 

Years  and  years  ago  — 
Dwelt  a  lady  in  a  villa, 

Years  and  years  ago;- — 
And  her  hair  was  black  as  night, 
And  her  eyes  were  starry  bright ; 
Olives  on  her  brow  were  blooming, 
Roses  red  her  lips  perfuming. 
And  her  step  was  light  and  airy 
As  the  tripping  of  a  fairy; 
When  she  spoke,  you  thought,  each  minut«, 
'T  was  the  trilling  of  a  linnet; 
When  she  sang,  you  heard  a  gush 
Of  full-voiced  sweetness  like  a  thrush; 
And  she  struck  from  the  guitar 
Ringing  music,  sweeter  far 
Than  the  morning  breezes  make 
Through  the  lime-trees  when  they  shake  — 
Than  the  ocean  murmuring  o'er 
Pebbles  on  the  foamy  shore. 
Orphaned  both  of  sire  and  mother, 

Dwelt  she  in  that  lonely  villa, 
Absent  now  her  guardian  brother 

On  a  mission  from  Sevilla. 
Skills  it  little  now  the  telling 

How  I  wooed  that  maiden  fair. 

Tracked  her  to  her  lonely  dwelling 

^     And  obtained  an  entrance  there. 

Ah!  that  lady  of  the  villa! 

And  I  loved  her  so. 
Near  the  city  of  Sevilla, 
Years  and  years  ago. 
Ay  de  mi!  —  Like  echoes  falling 

Sweet  and  sad  and  low. 
Voices  come  at  night,  recalling 
Years  and  years  ago. 


432  CHOICE  READINGS 

Once  again  I  'm  sitting  near  thee, 

Beautiful  and  bright; 
Once  again  I  see  and  hear  thee 

In  the  autumn  night; 
Once  again  I  'm  whispering  to  thee 

Faltering  words  of  love; 
Once  again  with  song  I  woo  thee 

In  the  orange  grove, 
Growing  near  that  lonely  villa 

Where  the  waters  flow 
Down  to  the  city  of  Sevilla  — 

Years  and  years  ago. 

T  was  an  autumn  eve:  the  splendor 

Of  the  day  was  gone, 
And  the  twilight,  soft  and  tender, 

Stole  so  gently  on 
That  the  eye  could  scarce  discover 
How  the  shadows,  spreading  over, 

Like  a  veil  of  silver  gray, 
Toned  the  golden  clouds,  sun  painted, 
Till  they  paled,  and  paled,  and  fainted 

From  the  face  of  heaven  away. 
And  a  dim  light  rising  slowly 

O'er  the  welkin  spread. 
Till  the  blue  sky,  calm  and  holy. 

Gleamed  above  our  head; 
And  the  thin  moon,  newly  nascent, 

Shone  in  glory  meek  and  sweet, 
As  Murillo  paints  her  crescent 

Underneath  Madonna's  feet. 
And  we  sat  outside  the  villa 

Where  the  waters  flow 
Down  to  the  city  of  Sevilla -r- 

Years  and  years  ago. 

There  we  sate  —  the  mighty  river 
Wound  its  serpent  course  along 

Silent,  dreamy  Guadalquivir, 
Famed  in  many  a  song. 


MISCELLANEOUS  433 

Silver  gleaming  'mid  the  plain 
Yellow  with  the  golden  grain, 
Gliding  down  through  deep,  rich  meadows^ 

Where  the  sated  cattle  rove, 
Stealing  underneath  the  shadows 

Of  the  verdant  olive  grove; 
With  its  plenitude  of  waters, 

Ever  flowing  calm  and  slow, 
Loved  by  Andalusia's  daughters, 

Sung  by  poets  long  ago. 

Seated  half  within  a  bower 

Where  the  languid  evening  breeze 
Shook  out  odors  in  a  shower 

From  orange  and  from  citron  trees. 

bang  she  from  a  romancero. 

How  a  Moorish  chieftain  bold 
Fought  a  Spanish  caballero 

By  Sevilla's  walls  of  old. 

How  they  battled  for  a  lady. 

Fairest  of  the  maids  of  Spain  — 
How  the  Christian's  lance,  so  steady. 

Pierced  the  Moslem  through  the  brain. 

Then  she  ceased  —  her  black  eyes  moving, 
Flashed,  as  asked  she  with  a  smile, — 
**  Say,  are  maids  as  fair  and  loving  — 
Men  as  faithful,  in  your  isle?" 

**  British  maids,"  I  said,  *'  are  ever 
Counted  fairest  of  the  fair; 
Like  the  swans  on  yonder  river 
Moving  with  a  stately  air. 

"^^  Wooed  not  quickly,  won  not  lightly  — 
But  when  won,  forever  true: 
TnVl  draws  the  bond  more  tightly^ 
Time  can  ne'er  the  knot  undo/' 


434  CHOICE  READINGS 

''And  the  men? *^  —  " Ah!  dearest  lady, 
Are  —  quien  sabef  who  can  say  ? 
To  make  love  they  're  ever  ready, 

When  they  can  and  where  they  may; 

"  Fixed  as  waves,  as  breezes  steady 
In  a  changeful  April  day  — 
Como  brisaSj  como  rios. 
No  se  sabcj  sabe  Dios" 

"  Are  they  faithful  ?  "  —  "  Ah !  quien  sabe? 

Who  can  answer  that  they  are? 
While  we  may  we  should  be  happy."  — 

Then  I  took  up  her  guitar, 
And  I  sang  in  sportive  strain, 
This  song  to  an  old  air  of  Spain: 

"  QUIEN  SABE  " 


"  The  breeze  of  the  evening  that  cools  the  hot  air, 
That  kisses  the  orange  and  shakes  out  thy  hair, 
Is  its  freshness  less  welcome,  less  sweet  its  perfume. 
That  you  know  not  the  region  from  whence  it  is  come? 
Whence  the  wind  blows,  where  the  wind  goes. 
Hither  and  thither  and  whither  —  who  knows? 

Who  knows? 
Hither  and  thither  —  but  whither  —  who  knows? 

II 
"  The  river  forever  glides  singing  along, 
The  rose  on  the  bank  bends  a'  down  to  its  song; 
And  the  flower,  as  it  listens,  unconsciously  dips. 
Till  the  rising  wave  glistens  and  kisses  its  lips. 
But  why  the  wave  rises  and  kisses  the  rose. 
And  why  the  rose  stoops  for  those  kisses  —  who  knows  ? 

Who  knows? 
And  away  flows  the  river  —  but  whither  —  who  knows? 

Ill 

**  Let  me  be  the  breeze,  love,  that  wanders  along 
The  river  that  ever  rejoices  in  song; 


MISCELLANEOUS  435 

Be  thou  to  my  fanq^  the  orange  in  bloom, 

The  rose  by  the  river  that  gives  its  perfume. 

Would  the  fruit  be  so  golden,  so  fragrant  the  rose, 

If  no  breeze  and  no  wave  vi^ere  to  kiss  them  ?  —  who  knows  ? 

Who  knows? 
If  no  breeze  and  no  wave  were  to  kiss  them?  —  who  knows?  " 

As  I  sang,  the  lady  listened. 

Silent  save  one  gentle  sigh; 
When  I  ceased,  a  tear-drop  glistened 

On  the  dark  fringe  of  her  eye. 

Then  my  heart  reproved  the  feeling 

Of  that  false  and  heartless  strain, 
Which  I  sang  in  words  concealing 

What  my  heart  would  hide  in  vain. 

Up  I  sprang.    What  words  were  uttered 

Bootless  now  to  think  or  tell  — 
Tongues  speak  wild  when  hearts  arc  fluttered 

By  the  mighty  master-spell. 

Love,  avowed  with  sudden  boldness. 

Heard  with  flushings  that  reveal. 
Spite  of  woman's  studied  coldness. 

Thoughts  the  heart  cannot  conceal. 

Words  half-vague  and  passion-broken, 

Meaningless,  yet  meaning  all 
That  the  lips  have  left  unspoken, 

That  we  never  may  recall. 

"  Magdalena,  dearest,  hear  me," 

Sighed  I,  as  I  seized  her  hand  — 
""  Hola!  Senorl'  very  near  me, 

Cries  a  voice  of  stern  command. 

And  a  stalwart  caballero 

Comes  upon  me  with  a  stride, 
On  his  head  a  slouched  sombrero, 

A  toledo  by  his  side. 

From  his  breast  he  flung  his  capa. 
With  a  stately  Spanish  air  — 


i36  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Will  your  worship  have  the  goodness 
To  release  that  lady's  hand?"  — 

"  Senor/'  I  replied,  ''  this  rudeness 
I  am  not  prepared  to  stand. 

"  Magdalena,  say  "  —  the  maiden 
With  a  cry  of  wild  surprise, 
As  with  secret  sorrow  laden, 
Fainting  sank  before  my  eyes. 

Then  the  Spanish  caballero 

Bowed  with  haughty  courtesy, 

Solemn  as  a  tragic  hero, 

And  announced  himself  to  me. 

"  Senor,  I  am  Don  Camillo 
Guzman  Miguel  Pedrillo 
De  Xymenes  y  Ribera 

Y  Santallos  y  Herrera 

Y  de  Rivas  y  Mendoza 

Y  Quintana  y  de  Rosa 

Y  ZorriUa  y  — " 

"  No  more,  sir, 
'T  is  as  good  as  twenty  score,  sir,'' 
Said  I  to  him,  with  a  frown; 
''  Mucha  bulla  para  nada. 

No  palabras,  draw  your  'spada ;  " 
"If  you  're  up  for  a  duello 
You  will  find  I  'm  just  your  fellow  — 
Senor,  I  am  Peter  Brown  ! " 

By  the  river's  bank  that  night, 

Foot  to  foot  in  strife, 
Fought  we  in  the  dubious  light, 

A  fight  of  death  or  life. 

Don  Camillo  slashed  my  shoulder; 
With  the  pain  I  grew  the  bolder, 

Close,  and  closer  still  I  pressed; 
Fortune  favored  me  at  last. 
I  broke  his  guard,  my  weapon  passed 

Through  the  caballero's  breast  — 


MISCELLANEOUS  437 

Down  to  the  earth  went  Don  Camillo 
Guzman  Miguel  Pedrillo 
De  Xymenes  y  Ribera 

Y  Santallos  y  Herrera 

Y  de  Rivas  y  Mendoza 

Y  Quintana  y  de  Rosa 

Y  Zorilla  y  —  one  groan, 
And  he  lay  motionless  as  stone. 

The  man  of  many  names  went  down, 
Pierced  by  the  sword  of  Peter  Brown, 

Oft  when  autumn  eve  is  closing, 

Pensive,  puffing  a  cigar 
In  my  chamber  lone  reposing, 
Musing  half,  and  half  a-dozing. 

Comes  a  vision  from  afar 
Of  that  lady  of  the  villa 
In  her  satin,  fringed  mantilla. 
And  that  haughty  caballero 
With  his  capa  and  sombrero. 
Vainly  in  my  mind  revolving 

That  long,  jointed,  endless  name;— =» 
'T  is  a  riddle  past  my  solving. 

Who  he  was,  or  whence  he  came. 
Was  he  that  brother  home  returned? 
Was  he  some  former  lover  spurned? 
Or  some  family  fiance 
That  the  lady  did  not  fancy? 
Was  he  any  one  of  those? 
Sabe  Dios.    Ah !  God  knows. 

Sadly  smoking  my  manilla. 

Much  I  long  to  know 
How  fares  the  lady  of  the  villa 

That  once  charmed  me  so, 
When  I  visited  Sevilla 

Years  and  years  ago. 

Has  she  married  a  Hidalgo? 
Gone  the  way  that  ladies  all  go 
In  those  drowsy  Spanish  cities. 
Wasting  life  —  a  thousand  pities  — 


438  CHOICE  READINGS 

Waking  up  for  a  fiesta 
From  an  afternoon  siesta, 
To  "  Giralda  "  now  repairing, 
Or  the  Plaza  for  an  airing; 
At  the  shaded  reja  flirting. 
At  a  bull-fight  now  disporting; 
Does  she  walk  at  evenings  ever 
Through  the  gardens  by  the  river? 
Guarded  by  an  old  duenna 
Fierce  and  sharp  as  a  hyena, 
With  her  goggles  and  her  fan 
Warning  off  each  rakish  man? 
Is  she  dead,  or  is  she  living? 
Is  she  for  my  absence  grieving? 
Is  she  wretched,  is  she  happy? 
Widow,  wife,  or  maid?    Quien  sabef 
Does  she  smile,  or  does  she  frown. 
When  she  thinks  of  —  Peter  Brown. 

—  7.  F.  Waller. 
/ 


THE  THREE  BELLS 

This  poem  refers  to  the  well-known  rescue  of  the  crew  of  an  American 
y«ssel  sinking  in  mid-ocean,  by  Captain  Leighton,  of  the  English  ship  Three 
Bells.  Unable  to  take  them  off,  in  the  night  and  the  storm,  he  stayed  by  them 
until  morning,  shouting  to  them  from  time  to  time  through  his  trumpet, 
"Never  fear,  hold  on;  I'll  stand  by  you!  " 

Beneath  the  low-hung  night  cloud 

That  raked  her  splintering  mast, 
The  good  ship  settled  slowly, 

The  cruel  leak  gained  fast. 

Over  the  awful  ocean 

Her  signal  guns  pealed  out; 
Dear  God!  was  that  thy  answer, 

From  the  horror  round  about? 

A  voice  came  down  the  wild  wind, — 

"Ho!  ship  ahoy!'*  its  cry; 
"Our  stout  Three  Bells  of  Glasgow 

Shall  stand  till  daylight  by!  *' 


MISCELLANEOUS  439 

Hour  after  hour  crept  slowly, 

Yet  on  the  heaving  swells 
Tossed  up  and  down  the  ship-lights,— 

The  lights  of  the  Three  Bells. 

And  ship  to  ship  made  signals; 

Man  answered  back  to  man; 
While  oft,  to  cheer  and  hearten, 

The  Three  Bells  nearer  ran. 

And  the  captain  from  her  taflrail 

Sent  down  his  hopeful  cry ; 
"Take  heart!  hold  on!*'  he  shouted, 

"The  Three  Bells  shall  stand  by!  " 

All  night  across  the  waters 

The  tossing  lights  shone  clear; 
All  night  from  reeling  taflrail 

The  Three  Bells  sent  her  cheer. 

And  when  the  dreary  watches 

Of  storm  and  darkness  passed. 
Just  as  the  wreck  lurched  under, 

All  souls  were  saved  at  last. 

Sail  on.  Three  Bells,  forever. 

In  grateful  memory  sail! 
Ring  on.  Three  Bells  of  rescue, 

Above  the  wave  and  gale! 

Type  of  the  Love  eternal, 

Repeat  the  Master's  cry, 
As  tossing  through  our  darkness 

The  lights  of  God  draw  nigh! 

—  John   G,   Whittiert. 


THE  LAUNCHING  OF  THE  SHIP 

^'  Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master  I 
Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel. 

That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster, 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle !  " 


440  CHOICE  READINGS 

Day  by  day  the  vessel  grew, 

With  timbers  fashioned  strong  and  true, 

Stemson  and  keelson  and  sternson  knee, 

Till,  framed  with  perfect  symmetry, 

A  skeleton  ship  rose  up  to  view! 

And  around  the  bows  and  along  the  side 

The  heavy  hammers  and  mallets  plied. 

Till  after  many  a  week,  at  length, 

Wonderful  for  form  and  strength, 

Sublime  in  its  enormous  bulk, 

Loomed  aloft  the  shadowy  hulk! 

And  around  it  columns  of  smoke,  upwreathing, 

Rose  from  the  boiling,  bubbling,  seething 

Caldron,  that  glowed. 

And  overflowed 
With  the  black  tar,  heated  for  the  sheathing. 
And  amid  the  clamors 
Of  clattering  hammers, 
He  who  listened  heard  now  and  then 
The  song  of  the  Master  and  his  men: 

"  Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master, 
Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel. 

That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster. 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle !  *' 

All  is  finished!  and  at  length 

Has  come  the  bridal  day 
Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 
To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched! 
With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched. 

And  o*er  the  bay. 
Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight. 
The  great  Sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight. 

The  Ocean  old. 

Centuries  old. 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled, 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro. 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 


MISCELLANEOUS  441 

His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest; 

And  far  and  wide, 

With  ceaseless  flow, 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands, 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands! 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay, 

In  honor  of  her  marriage  day, 

Her  snow-white  signals,  fluttering,  blending. 

Round  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Ready  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray  old  Sea. 

Then  the  Master, 

With  a  gesture  of  command, 

Waved  his  hand: 

And  at  the  word. 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard. 

All  around  them  and  below, 

The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow, 

Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 

And  see!  she  stirs! 

She  starts  —  she  moves  —  she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel. 

And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground, 

With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound. 

She  leaps  into  the  ocean^s  arms! 

And  lo!  from  the  assembled  crowd 

There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud. 

That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, 

"  Take  her,  O  bridegroom,  old  and  gray ; 

Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms. 

With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms!  '* 

How  beautiful  she  is!  how  fair 

She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 

Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 


442  CHOICE  READINGS 

Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care! 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  O,  ship! 
Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer i 

The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip, 
Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life. 
Oh,  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife, 
And  safe  from  all  adversity. 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be! 
For  gentleness,  and  love,  and  trust. 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust; 
And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 
Something  immortal  still  survives! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  ship  of  State! 
Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 

Humanity,  with  all  its  fears. 

With  all  its  hopes  of  future  years. 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate! 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel. 
What  workman  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat. 
In  what  a  forge,  and  what  a  heat. 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope. 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock; 

'Tis  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock; 

'T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail. 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale; 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar. 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee; 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears. 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears. 

Are  all  with  thee  —  are  all  with  thee! 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfelhw. 


MISCELLANEOUS  443 


BETSY  AND  I  ARE  OUT 

Draw  up  the  papers,  lawyer,  and  make  'em  good  and  stout, 
For  things  at  home  are  cross-ways,  and  Betsy  and  I  are  out, — 
We  who  have  worked  together  so  long  as  man  and  wife 
Must  pull  in  single  harness  the  rest  of  our  nat'ral  life. 

**  What  is  the  matter,"  says  you  ?     I  swan !  it 's  hard  to  tell ! 
Most  of  the  years  behind  us  we  've  passed  by  very  well ; 
I  have  no  other  woman  —  she  has  no  other  man ; 
Only  we  Ve  lived  together  as  long  as  ever  we  can. 

So  I  have  talked  with  Betsy,  and  Betsy  has  talked  with  me; 
And  we  've  agreed  together  that  we  can  never  agree  ; 
Not  that  we've  catched  each  other  in  any  terrible  crime ; 
We  've  been  a  gatherin'  this  for  years,  a  little  at  a  time. 

There  was  a  stock  of  temper  we  both  had,  for  a  start  ; 
Although  we  ne'er  suspected  't  would  take  us  two  apart; 
I  had  my  various  failings,  bred  in  the  flesh  and  bone. 
And  Betsy,  like  all  good  women,  had  a  temper  of  her  own. 

The  first  thing,  I  remember,  whereon  we  disagreed, 
Was  somethin'  concerning  heaven  —  a  difference  in  our  creed ; 
We  arg'ed  the  thing  at  breakfast  —  we  arg'ed  the  thing  at  tea  — 
And  the  more  we  arg'ed  the  question,  the  more  we  could  n't  agree. 

And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  when  we  lost  a  cow ; 

She  had  kicked  the  bucket,  for  certain  —  the  question  was  only  — 

How? 
I  held  my  opinion,  and  Betsy  another  had; 
And  when  we  were  done  a  talkin',  we  both  of  us  was  mad. 

And  the  next  that  I  remember,  it  started  in  a  joke; 
But  for  full  a  week  it  lasted  and  neither  of  us  spoke. 
And  the  next  was  when  I  fretted  because  she  broke  a  bowl ; 
And  she  said  I  was  mean  and  stingy,  and  had  n't  any  soul. 

And  so  the  thing  kept  working  and  all  the  self-same  way; 
Always  somethin'  to  arg'e  and  somethin'  sharp  to  say, — 
And  down  on  us  came  the  neighbors,  a  couple  o'  dozen  strong, 
And  lent  their  kindest  sarvice  to  help  the  thing  along. 


444  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  there  have  been  days  together  —  and  many  a  weary  week— ^ 
[When  both  of  us  were  cross  and  spunky,  and  both  too  proud  to 

speak ; 
And  I  have  been  thinkin'  and  thinkin',  the  whole  of  the  summer 

and  fall, 
If  I  can't  live  kind  with  a  woman,  why,  then  I  won't  at  all. 

And  so  I  Ve  talked  with  Betsy,  and  Betsy  has  talked  with  me  ; 
And  we  have  agreed  together  that  we  can  never  agree ; 
And  what  is  hers  shall  be  hers,  and  what  is  mine  shall  be  mine ; 
And  1 11  put  it  in  the  agreement  and  take  it  to  her  to  sign. 

iWrite  on  the  paper,  lawyer  —  the  very  first  paragraph  — 
Of  all  the  farm  and  live  stock,  she  shall  have  her  half ; 
For  she  has  helped  to  earn  it,  through  many  a  weary  day, 
And  it 's  nothin'  more  than  justice  that  Betsy  has  her  pay. 

Give  her  the  house  and  homestead ;  a  man  can  thrive  and  roam, 
But  women  are  wretched  critters,  unless  they  have  a  home. 
And  I  have  always  determined,  and  never  failed  to  say. 
That  Betsy  never  should  want  a  home,  if  I  was  taken  away. 

There  *s  a  little  hard  money  besides,  that 's  drawin'  tollable  pay, 
A  couple  of  hundred  dollars  laid  by  for  a  rainy  day, — 
Safe  in  the  hands  of  good  men,  and  easy  to  get  at; 
Put  in  another  clause  there,  and  give  her  all  of  that. 

I  see  that  you  are  smiling,  sir,  at  my  givin'  her  so  much ; 
Yes,  divorce  is  cheap,  sir,  but  I  take  no  stock  in  such; 
True  and  fair  I  married  her,  when  she  was  blithe  and  young, 
And  Betsy  was  always  good  to  me,  exceptin^  with  her  tongue. 

iWhen  I  was  young  as  you,  sir,  and  not  so  smart,  perhaps. 
For  me  she  mittened  a  lawyer,  and  several  other  chaps; 
And  all  of  'em  was  flustered,  and  fairly  taken  down. 
And  for  a  time  I  was  counted  the  luckiest  man  in  town. 

Once,  when  I  had  a  fever  —  I  won't  forget  it  soon  — 

I  was  hot  as  a  basted  turkey  and  crazy  as  a  loon  — 

Never  an  hour  went  by  me  when  she  was  out  of  sight; 

She  nursed  me  true  and  tender,  and  stuck  to  me  day  and  nfght. 


MISCELLANEOUS  445 

And  if  ever  a  house  was  tidy,  and  ever  a  kitchen  clean, 
Her  house  and  kitchen  was  tidy  as  any  I  ever  seen; 
And  I  do  n't  complain  of  Betsy  or  any  of  her  acts, 
Exceptin'  when  we  Ve  quarreled,  and  told  each  other  facts. 

So  draw  up  the  paper,  lawyer,  and  I  '11  go  home  to-night, 
And  read  the  agreement  to  her  and  see  if  it 's  all  ri^ht ; 
And  then  in  the  mornin'  I  '11  sell  to  a  tradin'  man  I  know  — 
And  kiss  the  child  that  was  left  to  us,  and  out  in  the  world  I  '11 
go. 

And  one  thing  put  in  the  paper,  that  first  to  me  did  n't  occur ; 
That  when  I  am  dead  at  last  she  will  bring  me  back  to  her, 
And  lay  me  under  the  maple  we  planted  years  ago. 
When  she  and  I  was  happy,  before  we  quarreled  so. 

And  when  she  dies,  I  wish  that  she  would  be  laid  by  me; 
And  lyin'  together  in  silence,  perhaps  we  '11  then  agree ; 
And  if  ever  we  meet  in  heaven,  I  would  n't  think  it  queer 
If  we  loved  each  other  the  better  because  we  've  quarreled  here.. 

—  Will  M.  Carleton. 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room. 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom. 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold; 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"  What  writest  thou  ?  "  —  The  vision  raised  its  head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord. 
Answered,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"  And  is  mine  one?  "  said  Abou.   "  Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  angel. —  Abou  spoke  more  low. 
But  cheerily  still ;  and  said,  '*  I  pray  thee,  then, 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 


446  CHOICE  READINGb 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.    The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blessed, 

And,  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest ! 

—  Leigh  Hunt, 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax. 

Her  cheeks  like  th-e  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds 

That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm. 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor, 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  main, 
"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

**  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring. 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see !  " 
The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he.  ^ 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  northeast; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength ; 
Sht  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frightened  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


MISCELLANEOUS  447 

**  Come  hither !  come  hither !  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale, 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  O  father !    I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  '' 
'*  'T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  ** — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

**  O  father !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be?" 
**  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea!  " 

"  O  father !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark. 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  Snow- 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave, 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 

Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 

On  the  rocks  and  hard  sea-sand. 


448  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho!  ho!  the  breakers  roared! 

At  (daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast; 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this. 

On  the  reef  of  Norman^s  Woe. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


AMY  ROBSART  AND  RICHARD  VARNEY 

FROM   "  KENILWORTH  " 

Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester,  the  favorite  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  having  re- 
cently married  Amy  Robsart,  has  concealed  her  at  Cumnor  Place,  fearing 
that,  if  his  marriage  is  made  public,  he  may  lose  court  favor.  The  Queen, 
who  has  been  led  to  believe  that  Amy  is  the  wife  of  the  EarPs  unprincipled 
servant  Varney,  orders  her  to  be  present  at  the  approaching  festivities  at 
Kenilworth  Castle.  Influenced  by  the  designing  Varney,  Leicester  writes  a 
letter  to  Amy,  conjuring  her,  for  reasons  nearly  concerning  his  own  life  and 

m 


MISCELLANEOUS  449 

honor,  to  come  to  Kenilworth  as  the  supposed  wife  of  his  servant.  Varney 
himself  is  the  bearer  of  the  letter.  He  enters  the  apartments  of  the  Countess^ 
his  dress  in  disorder  from  hasty  riding  through  a  dark  night  and  foul  ways. 

"  You  bring  news  from  my  lord,  Master  Varney  —  Gracious 
Heaven,  is  he  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  thank  Heaven !  Compose  yourself,  and  permit 
me  to  take  breath  ere  I  communicate  my  tidings." 

^'  No  breath,  sir;  I  know  your  theatrical  arts.  Since  your 
breath  hath  sufficed  to  bring  you  hither,  it  may  suffice  to  tell  your 
tale,  at  least  briefly,  and  in  the  gross." 

"  Madam,  we  are  not  alone,  and  my  lord's  message  was  for 
your  ear  only." 

"  Leave  us,  Janet,  and  Master  Foster,  but  remain  in  the  next 
apartment,  and  within  call." 

Foster  and  his  daughter  retired,  agreeably  to  the  Lady  Leices- 
ter's commands  into  the  next  apartment. 

All  was  as  still  as  death,  and  the  voices  of  those  who  spoke  in 
the  inner  chamber  were,  if  they  spoke  at  all,  carefully  subdued  to  a 
tone  which  could  not  be  heard  in  the  next.  At  once,  however,  they 
were  heard  to  speak  fast,  thick,  and  hastily. 

"  Undo  the  door,  sir,  I  command  you !  Undo  the  door !  I  will 
have  no  other  reply!  What  ho!  without  there!  Janet,  alarm  the 
house !  Foster,  break  open  the  door  —  I  am  detained  here  by  a 
traitor !  Use  axe  and  lever.  Master  Foster  —  I  will  be  your  war- 
rant!" 

"It  shall  not  need,  madam ;  if  you  please  to  expose  my  lord^s 
important  concerns  and  your  own  to  the  general  ear,  I  will  not 
be  your  hindrance." 

Janet,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  open,  ran  to  her  mistress;  and 
more  slowly,  yet  with  more  haste  than  he  was  wont,  Anthony 
Foster  went  to  Richard  Varney. 

"What  in  the  name  of  Satan,  have  you  done  to  her?"  said 
Foster  to  his  friend. 

"  Who,  I  —  nothing,  nothing  but  communicated  to  her  her 
lord's  commands,  which,  if  the  lady  list  not  to  obey,  she  knows 
better  how  to  answer  it  than  I  may  pretend  to  do." 

"  Now,  by  Heaven,  Janet,  the  false  traitor  lies  in  his  throat! 
He  must  needs  lie,  for  he  speaks  to  the  dishonor  of  my  noble  lord ; 
he  must  needs  lie  doubly,  for  he  speaks  to  gain  ends  of  his  own, 
equally  execrable  and  unattainable." 


460  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  You  have  misapprehended  me,  lady ;  let  this  matter  rest  till 
your  passion  be  abated,  and  I  will  explain  all." 

"  Thou  shalt  never  have  an  opportunity  to  do  so,"  said  the 
Countess.  "  Look  at  him,  Janet.  He  is  fairly  dressed,  hath  the 
outside  of  a  gentleman,  and  hither  he  came  to  persuade  me  it  was 
my  lord's  pleasure  —  nay,  more,  my  wedded  lord's  command, 
that  I  should  go  with  him  to  Kenilworth,  and  before  the  Queen 
and  nobles,  and  in  presence  of  my  own  wedded  lord,  that  I  should 
acknowledge  him  —  him  there,  that  very  cloak-brushing,  shoe- 
cleaning  fellow  —  him  there,  my  lord's  lackey,  for  my  liege 
lord  and  husband ;  furnishing  against  myself,  great  God !  whenever 
I  was  to  vindicate  my  right  and  my  rank,  such  weapons  as  would 
hew  my  just  claim  from  the  root,  and  destroy  my  character  to  be 
regarded  as  an  honorable  matron  of  the  English  nobility!  " 

*'  You  hear  her,  Foster,  and  you,  young  maiden,  hear  this 
lady;  you  hear  that  her  heat  only  objects  to  me  the  course  which 
our  good  lord,  for  the  purpose  to  keep  certain  matters  secret,  sug- 
gests in  the  very  letter  which  she  holds  in  her  hands." 

"  Never  will  I  believe  that  the  noble  Dudley  gave  counte- 
nance to  so  dastardly,  so  dishonorable  a  plan.  Thus  I  tread  on  his 
infamy,  if  indeed  it  be,  and  thus  destroy  its  remembrance  for- 
ever." 

So  saying,  she  tore  in  pieces  Leicester's  letter,  and  stamped,  in 
the  extremity  of  impatience,  as  if  she  would  have  annihilated  the 
minute  fragments  into  which  she  had  rent  it. 

"  Bear  witness,  she  hath  torn  my  lord's  letter,  in  order  to 
burden  me  with  the  scheme  of  his  devising ;  and  although  it  prom- 
ises naught  but  danger  and  trouble  to  me,  she  would  lay  it  to  my 
charge,  as  if  it  had  any  purpose  of  mine  own  in  it." 

**  Thou  liest,  thou  treacherous  slave !  Thou  liest !  Let  me  go, 
Janet.  Were  it  the  last  word  I  have  to  speak,  he  lies ;  he  had  his 
own  foul  ends,  and  broader  he  would  have  displayed  them,  had  my 
passion  permitted  me  to  preserve  the  silence  which  at  first  encour- 
aged him  to  unfold  his  vile  projects." 

"  Madam,  I  entreat  you  to  believe  yourself  mistaken." 

"  As  soon  will  I  believe  light  darkness.  Have  I  drank  of  ob- 
livion? Do  I  not  remember  former  passages,  which,  known  to 
Leicester,  had  given  thee  the  preferment  of  a  gallows,  instead  of 
the  honor  of  this  intimacy?  I  would  I  were  a  man  but  for  five 
minutes  I    It  were  space  enough  to  make  a  craven  like  thee  confess 


MISCELLANEOUS  451 

his  villainy.  But  go !  begone !  Tell  thy  master,  that  when  I  take  the 
foul  course  to  which  such  scandalous  deceits  as  thou  hast  recom- 
mended on  his  behalf  must  necessarily  lead  me,  I  will  give  him  a 
rival  something  worthy  of  the  name.  He  shall  not  be  supplanted 
by  an  ignominious  lackey,  whose  best  fortune  is  to  catch  a  gift  of 
his  master's  last  suit  of  clothes  ere  it  is  threadbare.  Go!  begone, 
sir!  I  ^corn  thee  so  much,  that  I  am  ashamed  to  have  been  angry 
with  thee." 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  COUNTESS  AMY  AND  HER  HUSBAND 

FROM  ''  KENILWORTH  ^' 

Amy  Robsart  was  confined  In  a  room  in  one  of  the  towers,  while  Queen 
Elizabeth,  attended  by  court-ladies  and  gentlemen,  went  on  a  hunting  expe- 
dition. When  they  returned,  Lord  Leicester  determined  to  see  Amy.  Dis- 
guised as  a  servant  of  Varney,  who  had  free  access  to  Amy's  room  under  the 
character  of  her  husband,  Lord  Leicester  passed  the  sentinel  in  safety,  and 
entered  the  room. 

"Dudley!"  she  exclaimed,  "Dudley!  and  art  thou  come  at 
last?  "  And  with  the  speed  of  lightning  she  flew  to  her  husband, 
hung  round  his  neck,  and,  unheeding  the  presence  of  Varney,  over- 
whelmed him  with  caresses,  while  she  bathed  his  face  in  a  flood 
of  tears ;  muttering,  at  the  same  time,  but  in  broken  and  disjointed 
monosyllables  the  fondest  expressions  which  Love  teaches  his 
votaries. 

He  received  and  repaid  her  caresses  with  fondness  mingled 
with  melancholy,  the  last  of  which  she  seemed  scarcely  to  observe, 
until  the  first  transport  of  her  own  joy  was  over;  when,  looking 
anxiously  in  his  face,  she  asked  if  he  was  ill. 

"  Not  in  my  body,  Amy,"  was  his  answer. 

"  Then  I  will  be  well,  too. —  O  Dudley  1  I  have  been  ill  1  — 
very  ill,  since  we  last  met!  I  have  been  in  sickness,  in  grief,  and  in 
danger.  But  thou  art  come,  and  all  is  joy  and  health,  and  safety!  " 

"  Alas!  Amy,"  said  Leicester,  "  thou  hast  undone  me!  " 

"I,  my  lord?"  said  Amy,  her  cheek  at  once  losing  its  tran- 
sient flush  of  joy  —  "  how  could  I  injure  that  which  I  love  better 
than  myself?  " 

"  I  would  not  upbraid  you,  Amy,"  replied  the  Earl ;  "  but  are 


452  CHOICE  READINGS 

you  not  here  contrary  to  my  express  commands  —  and  does  not 
your  presence  here  endanger  both  yourself  and  me?  '* 

''  Does  it,  does  it,  indeed!  "  she  exclaimed  eagerly:  "  then  why 
am  I  here  a  moment  longer?  Oh,  if  you  knew  by  what  fears  I 
was  urged  to  quit  Cumnor  Place!  —  but  I  will  say  nothing  of 
myself  —  only  that  if  it  might  be  otherwise,  I  would  not  willingly 
return  thither;  —  yet  if  it  concern  your  safety " 

"We  will  think.  Amy,  of  some  other  retreat,"  said  Leicester; 
"  you  shall  go  to  one  of  my  northern  castles,  under  the  personage 
—  it  will  be  needful,  I  trust,  for  a  very  few  days  —  of  Varney's 
wife." 

"  How,  my  lord  of  Leicester!  "  said  the  lady,  disengaging  her- 
self from  his  embraces;  "  is  it  to  your  wife  you  give  dishonorable 
counsel  to  acknowledge  herself  the  bride  of  another  —  and  of  all 
men,  the  bride  of  that  Varney?" 

"  Madam,  I  speak  in  earnest ;  Varney  is  my  true  and  faithful 
servant,  trusted  in  my  deepest  secrets.  I  had  better  lose  my  right 
hand  than  his  service  at  this  moment.  You  have  no  cause  to  scorn 
him  as  you  do." 

"  I  could  assign  one,  my  lord,  and  I  see  he  shakes  even  under 
that  assured  look  of  his.  But  he  that  is  necessary  as  your  right 
hand  to  your  safety,  is  free  from  any  accusation  of  mine.  May  he 
be  true  to  you ;  and  that  he  may  be  true,  trust  him  not  too  far.  But 
it  is  enough  to  say,  that  I  will  not  go  with  him  unless  by  violence, 
nor  would  I  acknowledge  him  as  my  husband,  were  all " 

"It  is  a  temporary  deception,  madam,  necessary  for  both  our 
safeties,  endangered  by  you  through  female  caprice,  or  the  prema- 
ture desire  to  seize  on  a  rank  to  which  I  gave  you  title,  only  under 
condition  that  our  marriage,  for  a  time,  should  continue  secret.  If 
my  proposal  disgust  you,  it  is  yourself  has  brought  it  on  both  of  us. 
There  is  no  other  remedy  —  you  must  do  what  your  own  impatient 
folly  hath  rendered  necessary  —  I  command  you." 

'*  I  cannot  put  your  commands,  my  lord,  in  balance  with  those 
of  honor  and  conscience.  I  will  not,  in  this  instance,  obey  you. 
You  may  achieve  your  own  dishonor,  to  which  these  crooked  poli- 
cies naturally  tend,  but  I  will  do  naught  that  can  blemish  mine." 

"  My  lord,  my  lady  is  too  much  prejudiced  against  me, 
unhappily,  to  listen  to  what  I  can  offer;  yet  it  may  please  her 
better  than  what  she  proposes.  She  has  good  interest  with  Master 
Edmund  Tressilian,  and  could  doubtless  prevail  on  him  to  con- 


MISCELLANEOUS  453 

sent  to  be  her  companion  to  Lidcote  Hall,  and  there  she  might 
remain  in  safety  until  time  permitted  the  development  of  this 
mystery.*' 

Leicester  was  silent,  but  stood  looking  eagerly  on  Amy,  with 
eyes  which  seemed  to  glow  as  much  with  suspicion  as  displeasure. 

The  countess  only  said,  "  Would  to  God  I  were  in  my  father's 
house!  When  I  left  it  I  little  thought  I  was  leaving  peace  of 
mind  and  honor  behind  me.'' 

Varney  proceeded  with  a  tone  of  deliberation,  "  Doubtless  this 
will  make  it  necessary  to  take  strangers  into  my  lord's  counsels; 
but  surely  the  countess  will  be  warrant  for  the  honor  of  Master 
Tressilian,  and  such  of  her  father's  family " 

"Peace,  Varney,"  said  Leicester;  "by  Heaven,  I  will  strike 
my  dagger  into  thee,  if  again  thou  namest  Tressilian  as  a  partner 
of  my  counsels!  " 

"And  wherefore  not?"  said  the  countess;  "unless  they  be 
counsels  fitter  for  such  as  Varney,  than  for  a  man  of  stainless  honor 
and  integrity.  My  lord,  my  lord,  bend  no  angry  brows  on  me  —  it 
is  the  truth,  and  it  is  I  who  speak  it.  I  once  did  Tressilian  wrong 
for  your  sake.  I  will  not  do  him  the  further  injustice  of  being 
silent  when  his  honor  is  brought  into  question.  I  can  forbear,"  she 
said,  looking  at  Varney,  "  to  pull  the  mask  off  hypocrisy,  but  I  will 
not  permit  virtue  to  be  slandered  in  my  hearing." 

There  was  a  dead  pause.  Leicester  stood  displeased,  yet  un- 
determined, and  too  conscious  of  the  weakness  of  his  cause;  while 
Varney,  with  a  deep  and  hypocritical  affectation  of  sorrow,  mingled 
with  humility,  bent  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

It  was  then  that  the  Countess  Amy  displayed,  in  the  midst  of 
distress  and  difficulty,  the  natural  energy  of  character,  which 
would  have  rendered  her,  had  fate  allowed,  a  distinguished  orna- 
ment of  the  rank  which  she  held. 

She  walked  up  to  Leicester  with  a  composed  step,  a  dignified 
air,  and  looks  in  which  strong  affection  essayed  in  vain  to  shake  the 
firmness  of  conscious  truth  and  rectitude  of  principle.  "  You  have 
spoken  your  mind,  my  lord,"  she  said,  "  in  these  difficulties  with 
which,  unhappily,  I  have  found  myself  unable  to  comply.  This 
gentleman  —  this  person  I  should  say  —  has  hinted  at  another 
scheme,  to  which  I  object  not,  but  as  it  displeases  you.  Will  your 
lordship  be  pleased  to  hear  what  a  young  and  timid  woman,  but 
your  most  affectionate  wife,  can  suggest  in  the  present  extremity?  " 


454  CHUIUK  KKADlNCiS 

Leicester  was  silent,  but  bent  his  head  toward  the  countess,  as 
an  intimation  that  she  was  at  liberty  to  proceed. 

''  There  hath  been  but  one  cause  for  all  these  evils,  my  lord," 
she  proceeded ;  *'  and  it  resolves  itself  into  the  mysterious  duplicity 
with  which  you  have  been  induced  to  surround  yourself.  Extricate 
yourself  at  once,  my  lord,  from  the  tyranny  of  these  disgraceful 
trammels.  Take  your  ill-fated  wife  by  the  hand,  lead  her  to  the 
footstool  of  Elizabeth's  throne ;  say  that  ^  in  a  moment  of  infatua- 
tion moved  by  supposed  beauty,  of  which  none  perhaps  can  now 
trace  even  the  remains,  I  gave  my  hand  to  this  Amy  Robsart.'  You 
will  then  have  done  justice  to  me,  my  lord,  and  to  your  own  honor; 
and  should  law  or  power  require  you  to  part  from  me,  I  will 
oppose  no  objection,  since  then  I  may  with  honor  hide  a  grieved 
and  broken  heart  in  those  shades  from  which  your  love  withdrew 
me.  Then  —  have  but  a  little  patience, —  and  Amy's  life  will  not 
long  darken  your  brighter  prospects." 

**  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  Amy,  that  cauld  weigh  aught  which 
ambition  has  to  give  against  such  a  heart  as  thine !  I  have  a  bitter 
penance  to  perform,  in  disentangling  all  the  meshes  of  my  own 
deceitful  policy.  And  the  queen  —  but  let  her  take  my  head,  as 
she  has  threatened !  " 

"  Your  head,  my  lord !  because  you  use  the  freedom  and  liberty 
of  an  English  subject  in  choosing  a  wife?  For  shame;  it  is  this 
distrust  of  the  queen's  justice,  this  misapprehension  of  danger, 
which  cannot  be  but  imaginary,  that,  like  scare-crows,  have  in- 
duced you  to  forsake  the  straightforward  path,  which,  as  it  is  the 
best,  is  also  the  safest." 

"  Ah,  Amy,  thou  little  knowest !  Fear  not,  thou  shalt  see 
Dudley  bear  himself  worthy  of  his  name.  I  must  instantly  com- 
municate  with  some  of  those  friends  on  whom  I  can  best  rely;  for, 
as  things  stand,  I  may  be  made  prisoner  in  my  own  castle." 

"  O  my  good  lord,  make  no  faction  in  a  peaceful  state !  There 
is  no  friend  can  help  us  so  well  as  our  own  candid  truth  and  honor. 
Bring  but  these  to  our  assistance,  and  you  are  safe  amidst  a  whole 
army  of  the  envious  and  malignant.  Leave  these  behind  you,  and 
all  other  defense  will  be  fruitless.  Truth,  my  noble  lord,  is  well 
painted  unarmed." 

"  But  Wisdom,  Amy,  is  arrayed  in  panoply  of  proof.  Argue 
not  with  me  on  the  means  I  shall  use  to  render  my  confession  as 
safe  as  may  be ;  it  will  be  fraught  with  enough  of  danger,  do  what 


MISCELLANEOUS  455 

we  will. —  Varney,  we  must  hence. —  Farewell,  Amy,  whom  I  am 
to  vindicate  as  mine  own,  at  an  expense  and  risk  of  which  thou 
alone  couldst  be  worthy!  You  shall  soon  hear  further  from  me." 
He  embraced  her  fervently,  muffled  himself  as  before,  and 
accompanied  Varney  from  the  apartment. 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


EXTRACT  FROM  MORITURI  SALUTJMUS 

In  mediaeval  Rome,  I  know  not  where. 

There  stood  an  image  with  its  arm  in  air, 

And  on  its  lifted  finger,  shining  clear, 

A  golden  ring  with  the  device,  *'  Strike  here!  " 

Greatly  the  people  wondered,  though  none  guessed 

The  meaning  of  these  words  but  half  expressed, 

Until  a  learned  clerk,  who  at  noonday 

With  downcast  eyes  was  passing  on  his  way, 

Paused,  and  observed  the  spot,  and  marked  it  well, 

Whereon  the  shadow  of  the  finger  fell. 

And  coming  back  at  midnight,  delved,  and  found 

A  secret  stairway  leading  underground. 

Down  this  he  passed  into  a  spacious  hall, 

Lit  by  a  flaming  jewel  on  the  wall ; 

And  opposite,  in  threatening  attitude. 

With  bow  and  shaft  a  brazen  statue  stood  ; 

Upon  its  forehead,  like  a  coronet. 

Were  these  mysterious  words  of  menace  set: 

"  That  which  I  am,  I  am ;  my  fatal  aim 

None  can  escape,  not  even  yon  luminous  flame!  " 

Midway  the  hall  was  a  fair  table  placed, 

With  cloth  of  gold,  and  golden  cups  enchased 

With  rubies,  and  the  plates  and  knives  were  gold. 

And  gold  the  bread  and  viands  manifold. 

Around  it,  silent,  motionless,  and  sad. 

Were  seated  gallant  knights  in  armor  clad, 

And  ladies  beautiful  with  plume  and  zone. 

But  they  were  stone,  their  hearts  within  were  stone; 

And  the  vast  hall  was  filled  in  every  part 

With  silent  crowds,  stony  in  face  and  heart. 


456  CHOICE  READINGS 

Long  at  the  scene,  bewildered  and  amazed, 
The  trembling  clerk  in  speechless  wonder  gazed ; 
Then  from  the  table,  by  his  greed  made  bold. 
He  seized  a  goblet  and  a  knife  of  gold, 
And  suddenly  from  their  seats  the  guests  upsprang, 
The  vaulted  ceilings  with  loud  clamors  rang. 
The  archer  sped  his  arrow,  at  their  call. 
Shattering  the  lambent  jewel  on  the  wall, 
And  all  was  dark  around  and  overhead;  — 
Stark  on  the  floor  the  luckless  clerk  lay  dead ! 

The  writer  of  this  legend  then  records 
Its  ghostly  application  in  these  words: 
The  image  is  the  Adversary  old. 
Whose  beckoning  finger  points  to  realms  of  gold  ; 
Our  lusts  and  passions  are  the  downward  stair 
That  leads  the  soul  from  a  diviner  air ; 
The  archer,  Death,  the  flaming  jewel,  Life, 
Terrestrial  goods,  the  goblet  and  the  knife ; 
The  knights  and  ladies,  all  whose  flesh  and  bone 
By  avarice  have  been  hardened  into  stone ; 
The  clerk,  the  scholar,  whom  the  love  of  pelf 
Tempts  from  his  books  and  from  his  nobler  self. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


SHAMUS  O'BRIEN 

Jist  after  the  war,  in  the  year  '98, 
As  soon  as  the  boys  wor  all  scattered  and  bate, 
'T  was  the  custom,  whenever  a  pisant  was  got. 
To  hang  him  by  thrial  —  barrin'  sich  as  was  shot. 
There  was  thrial  by  jury  goin'  on  by  daylight. 
And  the  martial-law  hangin'  the  lavins  by  night. 
It 's  them  was  hard  times  for  an  honest  gasson : 
If  he  missed  in  the  judges  —  he'd  meet  a  dragoon; 
An'  whether  the  sodgers  or  judges  gev  sentence, 
The  divil  a  much  time  they  allowed  for  repentance. 
An'  it 's  many  's  the  fine  boy  was  then  on  his  keepin' 
Wid  small  share  iv  restin'  or  atin'  or  sleepin' 


MISCELLANEOUS  457 

An*  because  they  loved  Erin,  an*  scorned  to  sell  it, 

A  prey  for  the  bloodhound,  a  mark  for  the  bullet  — 

Unsheltered  by  night,  and  unrested  by  day, 

With  the  heath  for  their  barrack,  revenge  for  their  pay; 

An'  the  bravest  an*  hardiest  boy  iv  them  all. 

Was  Shamus  O'Brien^  from  the  town  iv  GlingalL 

His  limbs  were  well  set,  an'  his  body  was  light, 
An'  the  keen-f anged  hound  had  not  teeth  half  so  white ; 
But  his  face  was  as  pale  as  the  face  of  the  dead. 
And  his  cheeks  never  warmed  with  the  blush  of  the  red. 

An'  for  all  that  he  was  n't  an  ugly  young  bye, 
For  the  divil  himself  could  n't  blaze  with  his  eye, 
So  droll  an'  so  wicked,  so  dark  and  so  bright. 
Like  a  fire-flash  that  crosses  the  depth  of  the  night ! 
An'  he  was  the  best  mower  that  ever  has  been, 
An'  the  illigantest  hurler  that  ever  was  seen. 
An'  in  fencin'  he  gave  Patrick  Mooney  a  cut, 
An'  in  jumpin'  he  bate  Tim  MuUoney  a  fut; 
An'  for  lightness  of  fut  there  wasn't  his  peer, 
For,  begorra,  he  could  almost  outrun  the  red  deer! 
An'  his  dancin'  was  sich  that  the  men  used  to  stare, 
An'  the  women  turned  crazy,  he  done  it  so  quare; 
An'  begorra,  the  whole  world  gev  in  to  him  there. 
An'  it 's  he  was  the  boy  that  was  hard  to  be  caught, 
An'  It  *s  often  he  run,  an'  it 's  often  he  fought. 
An'  it 's  many  the  one  can  remember  right  well 
The  quare  things  he  done :  an'  it  *s  often  I  heerd  tell 
How  he  frightened  the  magistrates  in  Caharbally, 
An'  'scaped  through  the  sodgers  in  Aherloe  valley; 
How  he  lathered  the  yeomen,  himself  agin  four. 
An'  stretched  the  two  strongest  on  old  Galtimore. 
But  the  fox  must  sleep  sometimes,  the  wild  deer  must  rest, 
An'  treachery  prey  on  the  blood  iv  the  best; 
Afther  many  a  brave  action  of  power  and  pride. 
An'  many  a  hard  night  on  the  mountain's  bleak  side 
An'  a  thousand  great  dangers  and  toils  overpast. 
In  the  darkness  of  night  he  was  taken  at  last. 


458  CHOICE  READINGS 

Now  Shamus^  look  bs^ck  on  the  beautiful  moon, 
For  the  door  of  the  prison  must  close  on  you  soon, 
An'  take  your  last  look  at  her  dim  lovely  light, 
That  falls  on  the  mountain  and  valley  this  night; 
One  look  at  the  village,  one  look  at  the  flood, 
An'  one  at  the  sheltering,  far-distant  wood; 
Farewell  to  the  forest,  farewell  to  the  hill, 
An'  farewell  to  the  friends  that  will  think  of  you  still ; 
Farewell  to  the  pathern,  the  hurlin*  an'  wake, 
And  farewell  to  the  girl  that  would  die  for  your  sake. 
An'  twelve  sodgers  brought  him  to  Maryborough  jail, 
An'  the  turnkey  resaved  him,  refusin'  all  bail. 

Well,  as  soon  as  a  few  weeks  was  over  and  gone, 
The  terrible  day  iv  the  thrial  kem  on, 
There  was  sich  a  crowd  there  was  scarce  room  to  stand, 
An'  sodgers  on  guard,  an'  dhragoons  sword-in-hand; 
An'  the  courthouse  so  full  that  the  people  were  bothered, 
An'  attorneys  an'  criers  on  the  point  iv  bein'  smothered ; 
An'  counselors  almost  gev  over  for  dead. 
An'  the  jury  sittin'  up  in  their  box  overhead; 
An'  the  judge  settled  out  so  detarmined  an'  big 
With  his  gown  on  his  back,  and  an  illegant  new  wig; 
An'  silence  was  called,  an'  the  minute  it  was  said 
The  court  was  as  still  as  the  heart  of  the  dead. 
An'  they  heard  but  the  openin'  of  one  prison  lock, 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  kem  into  the  dock. 

For  one  minute  he  turned  his  eye  round  on  the  throng, 

An'  he  looked  at  the  bars  so  firm  and  so  strong, 

An'  he  saw  that  he  had  not  a  hope  nor  a  friend, 

A  chance  to  escape,  nor  a  word  to  defend; 

An'  he  folded  his  arms  as  he  stood  there  alone. 

As  calm  and  as  cold  as  a  statue  of  stone ; 

And  they  read  a  big  writin',  a  yard  long  at  laste. 

An'  Jim  did  n't  understand  it  nor  mind  it  a  taste. 

An'  the  judge  took  a  big  pinch  iv  snuff,  and  he  says, 

"  Arc  you  guilty  or  not,  Jim  O'Brien,  av  you  plase  ?  '* 

An'  all  held  their  breath  in  the  silence  of  dhread. 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  made  answer  and  said: 


MISCELLANEOUS  459 

*'  My  lord,  if  you  ask  me,  if  in  my  lifetime 

I  thought  any  treason,  or  did  any  crime 

That  should  call  to  my  cheek,  as  I  stand  alone  here, 

The  hot  blush  of  shame,  or  the  coldness  of  fear, 

Though  I  stood  by  the  grave  to  receive  my  death-blow 

Before  God  and  the  world  I  would  answer  you.  No! 

But  if  you  would  ask  me,  as  I  think  it  like, 

If  in  the  rebellion  I  carried  a  pike. 

An*  fought  for  ould  Ireland  from  the  first  to  the  close. 

An*  shed  the  heart's  blood  of  her  bitterest  foes, 

I  answer  you.  Yes;  and  I  tell  you  again. 

Though  I  stand  here  to  perish,  it  *s  my  glory  that  then 

In  her  cause  I  was  willin*  my  veins  should  run  dhry, 

An'  that  now  for  her  sake  I  am  ready  to  die.'* 

Then  the  silence  was  great,  and  the  jury  smiled  bright. 

An'  the  judge  was  n't  sorry  the  job  was  made  light  ; 

By  my  sowl,  it 's  himself  was  the  crabbed  ould  chap! 

In  a  twinklin'  he  pulled  on  his  ugly  black  cap. 

Then  Shamus'  mother,  in  the  crowd  standin'  by, 

Called  out  to  the  judge  with  a  pitiful  cry: 

"  O  judge !  darlin',  do  n't,  O,  do  n't  say  the  word ! 

The  crather  is  young,  have  mercy,  my  lord ; 

He  was  foolish,  he  did  n't  know  what  he  was  doin*; 

You  do  n't  know  him,  my  lord  —  O  do  n't  give  him  to 

ruin! 
He  's  the  kindliest  crathur,  the  tendherest-hearted ; 
Do  n't  part  us  forever,  we  that 's  so  long  parted. 
Judge,  mavourneen,  forgive  him,  forgive  him,  my  lord, 
An'  God  will  forgive  you  —  O  do  n't  say  the  word !  " 

That  was  the  first  minute  that  O'Brien  was  shaken, 
When  he  saw  that  he  was  not  quite  forgot  or  forsaken ; 
An'  down  his  pale  cheeks,  at  the  word  of  his  mother, 
The  big  tears  wor  runnin'  fast,  one  af ther  th'  other  ; 
An'  two  or  three  times  he  endeavored  to  spake, 
But  the  sthrong  manly  voice  used  to  falther  and  break  ; 
But  at  last,  by  the  strength  of  his  high-mountin'  pride. 
He  conquered  and  masthered  his  grief's  swelling  tide, 
**'An',"   says   he,   "mother,   darlin',   don't   break  your 
poor  heart. 


460  CHOICE  READINGS 

For,  sooner  or  later,  the  dearest  must  part; 
And  God  knows  it 's  betther  than  wandering  in  fear 
On  the  bleak,  trackless  mountain,  among  the  wild  deer. 
To  lie  in  the  grave,  where  the  head,  heart,  and  breast. 
From  thought,  labor,  and  sorrow,  forever  shall  rest. 
Then,  mother,  my  darlin',  do  n't  cry  any  more. 
Do  n't  make  me  seem  broken,  in  this,  my  last  hour, 
For  I  wish,  when  my  head  's  lyin'  undher  the  raven, 
No  thrue  man  can  say  that  I  died  like  a  craven !  " 
Then  towards  the  judge  Sham  us  bent  down  his  head^ 
An'  that  minute  the  solemn  death-sentence  was  said. 

The  mornin'  was  bright,  an'  the  mists  rose  on  high, 

An'  the  lark  whistled  merrily  in  the  clear  sky; 

But  why  are  the  men  standin'  idle  so  late? 

An'  why  do  the  crowds  gather  fast  in  the  strate? 

What  come  they  to  talk  of?  what  come  they  to  see? 

An'  why  does  the  long  rope  hang  from  the  cross-tree? 

O  Shamus  O'Brien  !  pray  fervent  and  fast. 

May  the  saints  take  your  soul,  for  this  day  is  your  last ; 

Pray  fast  an'  pray  sthrong,  for  the  moment  is  nigh, 

iWhen,  sthrong,  proud,  an'  great  as  you  are,  you  must  die. 

At  last  they  threw  open  the  big  prison-gate. 

An'  out  came  the  sheriffs  and  sodgers  in  state. 

An'  a  cart  in  the  middle  an'  Shamus  was  in  it, 

Not  paler,  but  prouder  than  ever,  that  minute. 

An'  as  soon  as  the  people  saw  Shamus  O'Brien, 

Wid  prayin'  and  blessin',  and  all  the  girls  cryin', 

A  wild,  wailin'  sound  kem  on  by  degrees. 

Like  the  sound  of  the  lonesome  wind  blowin'  through 

trees. 
On,  on  to  the  gallows  the  sheriffs  are  gone, 
An'  the  cart  an'  the  sodgers  go  steadily  on; 
An'  at  every  side  swellin'  around  of  the  cart, 
A  wild,  sorrowful  sound,  that  id  open  your  heart. 
Now  under  the  gallows  the  cart  takes  its  stand. 
An'  the  hangman  gets  up  with  the  rope  in  his  hand ; 
An'  the  priest,  havin'  blest  him  goes  down  on  the  ground, 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  throws  one  last  look  round. 


MISCELLANEOUS  461 

Then  the  hangman  dhrew  near,  an'  the  people  grew  still, 
Young  faces  turned  sickly,  and  warm  hearts  turn  chill; 
An*  the  rope  bein'  ready,  his  neck  was  made  bare, 
For  the  grip  iv  the  life-strangling  cord  to  prepare; 
An'  the  good  priest  has  left  him,  havin'   said  his  last 

prayer. 
But  the  good  priest  done  more,  for  his  hands  he  unbound, 
An'  with  one  daring  spring  Jim  has  leaped  on  the  ground; 
Bang!  bang!  goes  the  carbines,  and  clash  goes  the  sabers; 
He  's  not  down !  he  's  alive  still !  now  stand  to  him,  neigh- 
bors! 
Through  the  smoke  and  the  horses  he  's  into  the  crowd, — 
By  the  heavens,  he  's  free !  —  than  thunder  more  loud. 
By  one  shout  from  the  people  the  heavens  were  shaken  — 
One  shout  that  the  dead  of  the  world  might  awaken. 
The  sodgers  ran  this  way,  the  sheriffs  ran  that. 
An'  Father  Malone  lost  his  new  Sunday  hat; 
To-night  he  '11  be  sleepin'  in  Aherloe  Glin, 
An'  the  divil  's  in  the  dice  if  you  catch  him  ag'in. 
Your  swords  they  may  glitter,  your  carbines  go  bang, 
But  if  you  want  hangin',  it 's  yourself  you  must  hang. 

iWell,  a  week  after  this  time,  without  firing  a  cannon, 

A  sharp,  Yankee  schooner  sailed  out  of  the  Shannon, 

And  the  captain  left  word  he  was  going  to  Cork, 

But  the  divil  a  bit,  he  was  bound  for  New  York. 

The  vety  next  spring,  a  bright  morning  in  May, 

Just  six  months  after  the  great  hangin'  day, 

A  letter  was  brought  to  the  town  of  Kildare. 

An'  on  the  outside  was  written  out  fair, 

"  To  ould  Mistress  O'Brien  in  Ireland  or  elsewhere." 

And  the  inside  began,  "  My  dear,  good  old  mother, 

I  'm  safe  —  and  I  'm  happy  —  and  not  wishing  to  bother 

You  in  the  readin'   (with  the  help  of  the  priest), 

I  send  you  inclosed  in  this  letter  at  least 

Enough  to  pay  him  and  fetch  you  away 

To  this  land  of  the  free  and  the  brave,  Amerikay. 

Here  you  '11  be  happy  and  never  nade  cryin' 

So  long  as  you  're  mother  of  Shamus  O'Brien. 

An'  give  me  love  to  swate  Biddy,  and  tell  her  beware 


462  CHOICE  READINGS 

Of  that  spalpeen  who  calls  himself  Lord  of  Kildare. 

An'  just  tell  the  Judge  I  do  n't  now  care  a  rap 

For  him  or  his  wig,  or  his  dirty  black  cap; 

An'  as  for  dragoons,  them  paid  men  of  slaughter. 

Just  say  that  I  love  them  as  the  divil  loves  holy  water. 

An'  now,  my  good  nwther,  one  word  of  advice: 

Fill  your  bag  with  pittatyes  and  whiskey  and  rice, 

An'  when  you  start  from  ould  Ireland,  take  passage  at  Cork 

An'  come  straight  over  to  the  town  of  New  York, 

An'  there  ax  the  mayor  the  best  way  to  go 

To  the  state  of  Cincinnati  in  the  town  of  Ohio; 

For  't  is  there  you  will  find  me  without  much  tryin' 

At  the  Harp  and  the  Eagle  kept  by  Shamus  O'Brien." 

—  J.  S.  Le  Fanu, 


THE  GLOVE  AND  THE  LIONS 

King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and  loved  a  royal  sport, 
And  one  day  as  his  lions  fought,  sat  looking  on  the  court; 
The  nobles  filled  the  benches,  with  the  ladies  in  their  pride, 
And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de  Lorge,  with  one  for  whom  he 

sighed : 
And  truly  't  was  a  gallant  thing  to  see  that  crowning  show 
Valor  and  love,  and  a  king  above,  and  the  royal  beasts  below. 

Ramped  and  roared  the  lions,  with  horrid  laughing  jawj; 
They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like  beams,  a  wind  \'.ent  with 

their  paws; 
With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar  they  rolled  on  o  a  another^ 
Till  all  the  pit  with  sand  and  mane  was  In  a  thunderous  smother, 
The  bloody  foam  above  the  bars  came  whisking  throi-gh  the  air; 
Said   Francis  then,   "  Faith,   gentlemen,   we  're  bettei    here   than 

there!" 

De  Lorge's  love  o'erheard  the  King,  a  beauteous,  lively  dame, 
With  smiling  lips  and  sharp  bright  eyes,  which  always  seemed 

the  same; 
She  thought,  "  The  Count,  my  lover,  is  brave  as  brave  can  be. 
He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things  to  show  his  love  of  me; 
King,  ladles,  lovers,  all  look  on;  the  occasion  is  divine; 
I  '11  drop  my  glove,  to  prove  his  love;  great  glory  will  be  mine!  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  463 

She  dropped  her  glove  to  prove  his  love,  then  looked  on  him  and 

smiled; 
He  bowed,  and  in  a  moment  leaped  among  the  lions  vv^ild; 
The  leap  was  quick,  return  was  quick,  he  has  regained  his  place, 
Then  threw  the  glove, —  but    not  with  love, —  right  in  the  lady's 

face. 
'*  By  Heaven !  "  said  Francis,  "  rightly  done !  "  and  he  rose  from 

where  he  sat; 
"  No  love,"  quoth  he,  "  but  vanity,  sets  love  a  task  like  that." 

Leigh  Hunt, 


THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE  MINISTER 

Hester  Prynne  went,  one  day,  to  the  mansion  of  Governor 
Bellingham,  with  a  pair  of  gloves  which  she  had  fringed  and 
embroidered  to  his  order.  Lifting  the  iron  hammer  that  hung  at 
the  portal,  Hester  Prynne  gave  a  summons. 

"  Is  the  w^orshipful  Governor  Bellingham  within  ?  " 

"  Yea,  forsooth,"  replied  the  bond  servant,  **  but  he  hath  a 
godly  minister  or  two  with  him,  and  likewise  a  leech.  Ye  may 
not  see  his  worship  now." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  enter." 

Just  then  adown  the  vista  of  the  garden  avenue,  a  number 
of  persons  were  seen  approaching  towards  the  house. 

Governor  Bellingham,  in  a  loose  gown  and  easy  cap,  walked 
foremost,  and  appeared  to  be  showing  off  his  estates,  and  expati- 
ating on  his  projected  improvements.  The  venerable  pastor,  John 
Wikon,  with  beard  white  as  the  snowdrift,  was  seen  over  Gover- 
nor Bellingham's  shoulder.  Behind  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Wil- 
son came  two  other  guests;  one  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale, 
and  in  close  companionship  with  him,  old  Roger  Chillingwofth, 
a  person  of  great  skill  in  physic.  The  Governor  ascended  one  or 
two  steps,  and,  throwing  open  the  leaves  of  the  great  hall  win- 
dow, found  himself  close  to  little  Pearl. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  Governor  Bellingham,  looking 
with  surprise  at  the  scarlet  little  figure  before  him.  "  I  profess  I 
have  never  seen  the  like  since  my  days  of  vanity,  in  old  King 
James'  time,  when  I  was  wont  to  esteem  it  a  high  favor  to  be 
admitted  to  a  court  mask.    There  used  to  be  a  swarm  of  these 


464  CHOICE  READINGS 

small  apparitions  in  holiday  time,  and  we  called  them  childrefl 
of  the  Lord  of  Misrule.   But  how  got  such  a  guest  into  my  hall?  " 

"Ay,  indeed !''  cried  good  old  Mr.  Wilson.  "What  little 
bird  of  scarlet  plumage  may  this  be?  Methinks  I  have  seen  just 
such  figures  when  the  sun  has  been  shining  through  a  richly 
painted  window,  and  tracing  out  the  golden  and  crimson  images 
across  the  floor.  But  that  was  in  the  old  land.  Prithee,  young 
one,  who  art  thou,  and  what  has  ailed  thy  mother  to  bedizen 
thee  in  this  strange  fashion?  Art  thou  a  Christian  child  —  ha? 
Dost  know  thy  catechism  ?  Or  art  thou  one  of  those  naughty  elfs 
or  fairies,  whom  we  thought  to  have  left  behind  us  in  merry  old 
England?'' 

"  I  am  mother's  child,  and  my  name  is  Pearl !  " 

"  Pearl  ?  —  Ruby,  rather !  —  or  Coral  —  or  Red  Rose,  at 
the  very  least,  judging  from  thy  hue!  But  where  is  this  mother 
of  thine?  Ah!  I  see.  This  is  the  self-same  child  of  whom  we 
have  had  speech  together;  and  behold  here  the  unhappy  woman, 
Hester  Prynne,  her  mother!  " 

"  Sayest  thou  so?  "  said  the  Governor.  "  She  comes  at  a  good 
time;  and  we  will  look  into  this  matter  forthwith.  Hester 
Prynne,  there  hath  been  much  question  concerning  thee,  of  late. 
The  point  hath  been  weightily  discussed  whether  we,  that  are  of 
authority  and  influence,  do  well  discharge  our  consciences  by 
trusting  an  immortal  soul,  such  as  there  is  in  yonder  child,  to  the 
guidance  of  one  who  hath  stumbled  and  fallen,  amid  the  pitfalls 
of  this  world.  Speak  thou,  the  child's  own  mother!  Were  it  not, 
thinkest  thou,  for  thy  little  one's  temporal  and  eternal  welfare 
that  she  be  taken  out  of  thy  charge,  and  clad  soberly,  and  disci- 
plined strictly,  and  instructed  in  the  truths  of  heaven  and  earth? 
What  canst  thou  do  for  the  child  in  this  kind  ?  " 

"  I  can  teach  my  little  Pearl  what  I  have  learned  from  this!  " 
answered  Hester  Prynne,  laying  her  finger  on  the  red  token. 
"This  badge  hath  taught  me  —  it  daily  teaches  me  —  it  is  teach- 
ing me  at  this  moment  —  lessons  whereof  my  child  may  be  the 
wiser  and  better,  albeit  they  can  profit  nothing  to  myself." 

"We  will  judge  warily,  and  look  well  what  we  are  about 
to  do.  Good  Master  Wilson,  I  pray  you,  examine  this  Pearl  — 
since  that  is  her  name  —  and  see  whether  she  hath  had  such  Chris- 
tian nurture  as  befits  a  child  of  her  age." 

The  old  minister  seated  himself  in  an  armchair,  and  made  an 


MISCELLANEOUS  465 

effort  to  draw  Pearl  betwixt  his  knees.  But  the  child,  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  touch  of  any  but  her  mother,  escaped  through  the 
open  window,  and  stood  on  the  upper  step,  looking  like  a  wild 
tropical  bird  of  rich  plumage,  ready  to  take  flight  into  the  upper 
air. 

"  Pearl,"  said  he,  with  great  solemnity,  "  thou  must  take  heed 
to  instruction,  that  so,  in  due  season,  thou  mayst  wear  in  thy 
bosom  the  pearl  of  great  price.  Canst  thou  tell  me,  my  child, 
who  made  thee  ?  " 

Now,  Pearl  knew  well  enough  who  made  her.  But  that  per- 
versity which  all  children  have  more  or  less,  and  of  which  little 
Pearl  had  a  tenfold  portion,  now  took  thorough  possession^  of  her, 
and  closed  her  lips,  or  impelled  her  to  speak  words  amiss.  After 
putting  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  with  many  ungracious  refusals 
to  answer,  the  child  finally  announced  that  she  had  not  been  made 
at  all,  but  had  been  plucked  by  her  mother  off  the  bush  of  wild 
roses  that  grew  by  the  prison  door. 

"This  is  awful!"  said  the  Governor.  "Here  is  a  child  of 
three  years  old,  and  she  cannot  tell  who  made  her !  Without  ques- 
tion she  is  equally  in  the  dark  as  to  her  soul,  its  present  depravity 
and  future  destiny!  Methinks,  gentlemen,  we  need  inquire  no 
further." 

Hester  caught  hold  of  Pearl  and  drew  her  forcibly  into  her 
arms,  confronting  the  old  Puritan  magistrate  with  almost  a  fierce 
expression.  Alone  in  the  world,  cast  off  by  it,  and  with  this  sole 
treasure  to  keep  her  heart  alive,  she  felt  that  she  possessed  inde- 
feasible rights  against  the  world,  and  was  ready  to  defend  them 
to  the  death. 

"  God  gave  me  the  child !  "  she  cried.  "  He  gave  her  in  re- 
quital of  all  things  else  which  ye  had  taken  from  me.  She  is  my 
happiness  —  she  is  my  torture,  none  the  less.  Pearl  keeps  me 
here  in  life.  Pearl  punishes  me,  too.  Ye  shall  not  take  her;  I 
will  die  first.*' 

"  My  poor  woman,"  said  the  old  minister,  "  the  child  shall 
be  well  cared  for  —  far  better  than  thou  canst  do  it." 

"  God  gave  her  into  my  keeping,"  repeated  Hester  Prynne, 
raising  her  voice  almost  to  a  shriek.  "  I  will  not  give  her  up !  " 
And  here  by  a  sudden  impulse  she  turned  to  the  young  clergy- 
man. "Speak  thou  for  me!  Thou  wast  my  pastor,  and  hadst 
charge  of  my  soul,  and  knowest  me  better  than  these  men  can. 


466  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  will  not  lose  the  child.  Speak  for  me.  Thou  knowest  —  for 
thou  hast  sympathies  which  these  men  lack  —  thou  knowest  what 
is  in  my  heart,  and  what  are  a  mother's  rights,  and  how  much 
the  stronger  they  are  when  that  mother  has  but  her  child  and 
the  scarlet  letter.  Look  thou  to  it.  I  will  not  lose  the  child. 
Look  to  it!  " 

The  young  minister  at  once  came  forward.  "  There  is  truth 
in  what  she  says,  truth  in  what  Hester  says,  and  in  the  feeling 
which  inspires  her.  God  gave  her  the  child,  and  gave  her,  too, 
an  instinctive  knowledge  of  its  nature  and  requirements  —  but 
seemingly  so  peculiar  —  which  no  other  mortal  can  possess.  And, 
moreover,  is  there  not  a  quality  of  awful  sacredness  in  the  rela- 
tion between  this  mother  and  this  child?  This  child  hath  come 
from  the  hand  of  God,  to  work  in  many  ways  upon  her  heart, 
who  pleads  so  earnestly  and  with  such  bitterness  of  spirit,  the 
right  to  keep  her.  It  was  meant  for  a  blessing,  for  the  one  bless- 
ing of  her  life.  It  was  meant  for  a  retribution,  too;  a  torture 
to  be  felt  in  many  an  unthought-of  moment,  a  pang,  a  sting,  an 
ever-recurring  agony  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled  joy.  And  may  it 
not  be  that  this  boon  was  meant  to  keep  the  mother's  soul  alive, 
and  to  preserve  her  from  blacker  depths  of  sin  into  which  Satan 
might  else  have  sought  to  plunge  her?  Therefore,  it  is  good  for 
this  poor,  sinful  woman  that  she  hath  an  infant  immortality  to 
teach  her,  by  the  Creator's  sacred  pledge,  that  if  she  bring  the 
child  to  heaven,  the  child  also  will  bring  its  parent  thither.  For 
Hester  Prynne's  sake,  then,  and  no  less  for  the  poor  child's  sake> 
let  us  leave  them  as  Providence  has  seen  fit  to  place  them." 

"  There  is  a  weighty  import  in  what  my  young  brother  hath 
spoken,"  added  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson.  "  What  say  you, 
worsihipful  Master  Bellingham?  Hath  he  not  pleaded  well  for 
the  poor  woman?  " 

"  Indeed,  hath  he,"  answered  the  magistrate,  "  and  hath 
adduced  such  arguments  that  we  will  even  leave  the  matter  as 
it  now  stands.  Care  must  be  had,  nevertheless,  to  put  the  child 
to  due  and  stated  examinations  in  the  catechism,  at  thy  hands  or 
Master  Dimmesdale's.  Moreover,  at  the  proper  season,  the  tith- 
ing-men  must  take  heed  that  she  go  both  to  school  and  to 
meeting." 

The  affair  being  so  satisfactorily  concluded,  Hester  Prynnc, 
with  Pearl,  departed  from  the  house.   As  they  descended  the  steps, 


MISCELLANEOUS  467 

the  lattice  of  a  chamber  window  was  thrown  open,  and  forth  into 
the  sunny  day  was  thrust  the  face  of  Mistress  Hibbins. 

"Hist!  hist!"  said  she,  while  her  ill-omened  physiognomy 
seemed  to  cast  a  shadow.  "Wilt  thou  go  with  us  to-night? 
There  will  be  a  merry  company  in  the  forest,  and  I  well-nigh 
promised  the  Black  Man  that  comely  Hester  Prynne  should  make 
one. 

"  Make  my  excuse  to  him,  so  please  you,'*  answered  Hester, 
with  a  triumphant  smile.  "  I  must  tarry  at  home  and  keep  watch 
over  my  little  Pearl.  Had  they  taken  her  from  me,  I  would 
willingly  have  gone  into  the  forest  and  signed  my  name  in  the 
Black  Man's  book  too,  and  that  with  my  own  blood." 

"  We  shall  have  thee  there  anon,"  said  the  witch-lady. 

—  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 


AUX  ITALIENS 


At  Paris  it  was,  at  the  opera  there; 

And  she  looked  like  a  queen  in  a  book  that  night, 
With  the  wreath  of  pearl  in  her  raven  hair, 

And  the  brooch  on  her  breast  so  bright. 

Of  all  the  operas  that  Verdi  wrote, 

The  best,  to  my  taste,  is  the  Trovatore; 

And  Mario  can  soothe,  with  a  tenor  note, 
The  souls  of  purgatory. 

The  moon  on  the  tower  slept  soft  as  snow; 

And  who  was  not  thrilled  in  the  strangest  way. 
As  we  heard  him  sing,  while  the  gas  burned  low, 

"  Non  ti  scordar  di  me?  " 

The  emperor  there,  in  his  box  of  state. 

Looked  grave;  as  if  he  had  just  then  seen 

The  red  flag  wave  from  the  city  gate. 
Where  his  eagles  in  bronze  had  been. 

The  empress,  too,  had  a  tear  in  her  eye; 

You  'd  have  said  that  her  fancy  had  gone  back  again. 
For  one  moment,  under  the  old  blue  sky. 

To  the  old  glad  life  in  Spain, 


468  CHOICE  READINGS 

Well!  there  in  our  front-row  box  we  sat 

Together,  my  bride  betrothed  and  I ; 
My  gaze  was  fixed  on  my  opera  hat, 

And  hers  on  the  stage  hard  by. 

And  both  were  silent,  and  both  were  sad;  — 
Like  a  queen  she  leaned  on  her  full  white  arm, 

With  that  regal,  indolent  air  she  had; 
So  confident  of  her  charm. 

I  have  not  a  doubt  she  was  thinking  then 
Of  her  former  lord,  good  soul  that  he  was, 

Who  died  the  richest  and  roundest  of  men, 
The  Marquis  of  Carabas. 

I  hope  that,  to  get  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
Through  a  needle's  eye  he  had  not  to  pass; 

I  wish  him  well  for  the  jointure  given 
To  my  lady  of  Carabas. 

Meanwhile,  I  was  thinking  of  my  first  love 
As  I  had  not  been  thinking  of  aught  for  years; 

Till  over  my  eyes  there  began  to  move 
Something  that  felt  like  tears. 

I  thought  of  the  dress  that  she  wore  last  time, 

When  we  stood  'neath  the  cypress-trees  together. 
In  that  lost  land,  in  that  soft  clime, 
In  the  crimson  evening  weather; 

Of  that  muslin  dress  (for  the  eve  was  hot)  ; 

And  her  warm  white  neck  in  its  golden  chain; 
And  her  full  soft  hair,  just  tied  in  a  knot. 

And  falling  loose  again; 

And  the  jasmine  flower  in  her  fair  young  breast; 

(O  the  faint,  sweet  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower!) 
And  the  one  bird  singing  alone  to  his  nest; 

And  the  one  star  over  the  tower. 

I  thought  of  our  little  quarrels  and  strife, 

And  the  letter  that  brought  me  back  my  ring; 

And  It  all  seemed  then,  in  the  waste  of  life. 
Such  a  very  little  thing! 


MISCELLANEOUS  469. 

For  I  thought  of  her  grave  below  the  hill, 
Which  the  sentinel  cypress-tree  stands  over; 

And  I  thought,  ''  Were  she  only  living  still, 
How  I  could  forgive  her  and  love  her!" 

And  I  swear,  as  I  thought  of  her  thus  in  that  hour, 

And  of  how,  after  all,  old  things  are  best. 
That  I  smelt  the  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower 

Which  she  used  to  wear  in  her  breast. 

It  smelt  so  faint,  and  it  smelt  so  sweet, 

It  made  me  creep,  and  it  made  me  cold! 
Like  the  scent  that  steals  from  the  crumbling  sheet 

Where  a  mummy  is  half  unrolled; 

And  I  turned  and  looked;  she  was  sitting  there, 

In  a  dim  box  over  the  stage;  and  drest 
In  that  muslin  dress,  with  that  full  soft  hair, 

And  the  jasmine  in  her  breast! 

I  was  here,  and  she  was  there; 

And  the  glittering  horse-shoe  curved  between :  — 
From  my  bride  betrothed,  with  her  raven  hair 

And  her  sumptuous  scornful  mien. 

To  my  early  love,  with  her  eyes  downcast. 

And  over  her  primrose  face  the  shade, 
(In  short,  from  the  future  back  to  the  past,) 

There  was  but  a  step  to  be  made. 

To  my  early  love  from  my  future  bride 

One  moment  I  looked.    Then  I  stole  to  the  door,. 

I  traversed  the  passage;  and  down  at  her  side 
I  was  sitting,  a  moment  more. 

My  thinking  of  her,  or  the  music's  strain, 

Or  something  which  never  will  be  exprest, 
Had  brought  her  back  from  the  grave  again. 

With  the  jasmine  in  her  breast. 

She  is  not  dead,  and  she  is  not  wed! 

But  she  loves  me  now,  and  she  loved  me  then! 
And  the  very  first  word  that  her  sweet  lips  said, 

My  heart  grew  youthful  again. 


470  CHOICE  READINGS 

The  marchioness  there,  of  Carabas, 

She  is  wealthy,  and  young,  and  handsome  still  ; 

And  but  for  her     .     .     .     well,  well  let  that  pass; 
She  may  marry  whomever  she  will. 

But  I  will  marry  my  own  first  love. 

With    her   primrose   face,   for   old    things   are    best; 
And  the  flower  in  her  bosom,  I  prize  it  above 

The  brooch  in  my  lady's  breast. 

The  world  is  filled  with  folly  and  sin. 
And  love  must  cling  where  it  can,  I  say: 

For  beauty  is  easy  enough  to  win; 
But  one  is  n't  loved  every  day. 

And  I  think  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and  men, 

There  's  a  moment  when  all  would  go  smooth  and  even 

If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven. 

But  O  the  smell  of  that  jasmine  flower! 

And  O  that  music!  and  O  the  way 
That  voice  rang  out  from  the  donjon  tower, 

"  Non  ti  scordar  di  me, 
Non  ti  scordar  di  me!  " 

—  Robert  Bulwer-LyttOTio 


COUNT  CANDESPINA'S  STANDARD 

Scarce  were  the  splintered  lances  dropped. 
Scarce  were  the  swords  drawn  out. 

Ere  recreant  Lara,  sick  with  fear, 
Had  wheeled  his  steed  about; 

His  courser  reared,  and  plunged,   and  neighed, 

Loathing  the  fight  to  yield; 
But  the  coward  spurred  him  to  the  bone, 

And  drove  him  from  the  field. 

-Gonzalez  in  his  stirrups  rose: 

"Turn,  turn,  thou  traitor  knight! 

Thou  bold  tongue  in  a  lady's  bower, 
Thou  dastard  in  a  fight!  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  47? 

But  vainly  valiant  Gomez  cried 

Across  the  vi^aning  fray: 
Pale  Lara  and  his  craven  band 

To  Burgos  scoured  away. 

"  Now,  by  the  God  above  me,  sirs, 

Better  we  all  were  dead. 
Than  a  single  knight  among  ye  all 

Should  ride  where  Lara  led! 

"  Yet  ye  who  fear  to  follow  me, 

As  yon  traitor,  turn  and  fly; 
For  I  lead  ye  not  to  win  a  field; 

I  lead  ye  forth  to  die. 

"  Olea,  plant  my  standard  here  — 

Here  on  this  little  mound; 
Here  raise  the  war-cry  of  thy  house, 

Make  this  our  rallying  ground. 

"  Forget  not,  as  thou  hop'st  for  grace, 

The  last  care  I  shall  have 
Will  be  to  hear  thy  battle-cry. 

And  see  that  standard  wave." 

Down  on  the  ranks  of  Aragon 

The  bold  Gonzalez  drove. 
And  Olea  raised  his  battle-cry. 

And  waved  the  flag  above. 

Slowly  Gonzalez'  little  band 

Gave  ground  before  the  foe; 
But  not  an  inch  of  the  field  was  won 

Without  a  deadly  blow; 

And  not  an  inch  of  the  field  was  won 

That  did  not  draw  a  tear 
From  the  widowed  wives  of  Aragon, 

That  fatal  news  to  hear. 

Backward  and  backward  Gomez  fought. 

And  high  o'er  the  clashing  steel, 
Plainer  and  plainer  rose  the  cry, 

"Olea  for  Castile!'' 


4 12  CHOICE  READINGS 

Backward  fought  Gomez,  step  by  step, 
Till  the  cry  was  close  at  hand, 

Till  his  dauntless  standard  shadowed  him; 
And  there  he  made  his  stand. 

Mace,  sword,  and  axe  rang  on  his  mail, 
Yet  he  moved  not  where  he  stood. 

Though  each  gaping  joint  of  armor  ran 
A  stream  of  purple  blood. 

As,  pierced  with  countless  wounds  he  fell, 

The  standard  caught  his  eye. 
And  he  smiled  like  an  infant  hushed  asleep, 

To  hear  the  battle-cry. 

Now,  one  by  one  the  wearied  knights 

Have  fallen,  or  basely  flown; 
And  on  the  mound  where  his  post  was  fixed 

Olea  stood  alone. 

"Yield  up  thy  banner,  gallant  knight! 

Thy  lord  lies  on  the  plain; 
Thy  duty  has  been  nobly  done; 

I  would  not  see  thee  slain." 

"  Spare  pity,  King  of  Aragon ! 

I  would  not  hear  thee  lie: 
My  lord  is  looking  down  from  heaven 

To  see  his  standard  fly." 

**  Yield,  madman,  yield!  thy  horse  is  down, 
Thou  hast  nor  lance  nor  shield; 

Fly!  —  I  will  grant  thee  time."  "This  flag 
Can  neither  fly  nor  yield !  " 

They  girt  the  standard  round  about, 

A  wall  of  flashing  steel; 
But  still  they  heard  the  battle-cry, 

"Olea  for  Castile!" 

And  there,  against  all  Aragon, 

Full  armed  with  lance  and  brand, 

Olea  fought  until  the  sword 
Snapped  in  his  sturdy  hand. 


MISCELLANEOUS  473 

Among  the  foe  with  that  high  scorn 

Which  laughs  at  earthly  fears, 
He  hurled  the  broken  hilt,  and  drew 

His  dagger  on  the  spears. 

They  hewed  the  hauberk  from  his  breast, 

The  helmet  from  his  head; 
They  hewed  the  hands  from  off  his  limbs; 

From  every  vein  he  bled. 

Clasping  the  standard  to  his  heart. 

He  raised  one  dying  peal, 
That  rang  as  if  a  trumpet  blew, — 

"Olea  for  Castile!'* 

—  George  H,  Boker. 


HER  LETTER 


I  'm  sitting  alone  by  the  fire, 

Dressed  just  as  I  came  from  the  dance. 
In  a  robe  even  you  would  admire, — 

It  cost  a  cool  thousand  in  France; 
I  *m  be-diamonded  out  of  all  reason, 

My  hair  is  done  up  in  a  cue : 
In  short,  sir,  "  the  belle  of  the  season  " 

Is  wasting  an  hour  on  you. 

A  dozen  engagements  I  Ve  broken ; 

I  left  in  the  midst  of  a  set; 
Likewise  a  proposal,  half  spoken. 

That  waits  —  on  the  stairs  —  for  me  yet. 
They  say  he  '11  be  rich, —  when  he  grows  up,- 

And  then  he  adores  me  indeed. 
And  you,  sir,  are  turning  your  nose  up. 

Three  thousand  miles  off,  as  you  read. 

**  And  how  do  I  like  my  position  ?  " 

"  And  what  do  I  think  of  New  York?  " 

**  And  now,  in  my  higher  ambition. 

With  whom  do  I  waltz,  flirt,  or  talk  ?  " 


474  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  And  is  n't  it  nice  to  have  riches, 

And  diamonds,  and  silks,  and  all  that  ?  " 

"  And  are  n't  it  a  change  to  the  ditches 
And  tunnels  of  Poverty  Flat?  " 

Well,  yes, —  if  you  saw  us  out  driving 
Each  day  in  the  park  four-in-hand, — 

If  you  saw  poor,  dear  mamma  contriving 

To  look  supernaturally  grand, — 

If  you  saw  papa's  picture  as  taken 
By  Brady,  and  tinted  at  that, — 

You  'd  never  suspect  he  sold  bacon 
And  flour  at  Poverty  Flat. 

And  yet,  just  this  moment,  when  sitting 

In  the  glare  of  the  grand  chandelier, — 
In  the  bustle  and  glitter  befitting 

The  "  finest  soiree  of  the  year,'* 
In  the  mists  of  a  gauze  de  Chambery, 

And  the  hum  of  the  smallest  of  talk, — 
Somehow,  Joe,  I  thought  of  the  *'  Ferry," 

And  the  dance  that  we  had  on  "  The  Fork; ' 

Of  Harrison's  barn,  with  its  muster 

Of  flags  festooned  over  the  wall ; 
Of  the  candles  that  shed  their  soft  luster 

And  tallow  on  head-dress  and  shawl  ; 
Of  the  steps  that  we  took  to  one  fiddle ; 

Of  the  dress  of  my  queer  vis-a-vis; 
And  how  I  once  went  down  the  middle 

With  the  man  that  shot  Sandy  McGee; 

Of  the  moon  that  was  quietly  sleeping 

On  the  hill,  when  the  time  came  to  go; 
Of  the  few  baby  peaks  that  were  peeping 

From  under  their  bedclothes  of  snow; 
Of  that  ride, —  that  to  me  was  the  rarest; 

Of  —  the  something  you  said  at  the  gate,— 
Ah,  Joe,  then  I  was  n't  an  heiress 

To  "  the  best  paying  lead  in  the  State." 


MISCELLANEOUS  475 

Well,  well,-  ft 's  all  past ;  yet  It 's  funny 

To  think,  as  I  stood  in  the  glare 
Of  fashion,  and  beauty,  and  money. 

That  I  should  be  thinking,  right  there, 
Of  someone  who  breasted  highwater, 

And  swam  the  North  Fork,  and  all  that, 
Just  to  dance  with  old  Folinsbee's  daughter, 

The  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat. 

But  goodness!  what  nonsense  I'm  writing! 

(Mamma  says  my  taste  still  is  low,) 
Instead  of  my  triumphs  reciting, 

I'm  spooning  on  Joseph, —  heigh-ho! 
And  I  'm  to  be  *'  finished  "  by  travel, — 

Whatever  's  the  meaning  of  that, — 
Oh!  why  did  papa  strike  pay  gravel 

In  drifting  on  Poverty  Flat. 

Good-night, —  here's  the  end  of  my  paper; 
Good-night, —  if  the  longitude  please, — 
For  maybe  while  wasting  my  taper, 

Your  sun  's  climbing  over  the  trees. 
But  know  if  you  have  n't  got  riches. 

And  are  poor,  dearest  Joe,  and  all  that. 
That  my  heart 's  somewhere  there  In  the  ditches, 
'And  you've  struck  it, —  on  Poverty  Flat. 

—  Bret  Harte. 


THE  BUGLE  SONG 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes. 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  hark!  O  hear!  how  thin  and  clear. 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going! 

O  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 


476  CHOICE  READINGS 

Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying: 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 

They  faint  on  hill,  or  field,  or  river: 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


THE  GREEN  GNOME 

Ring,  sing!  ring,  sing!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 
Chime,  rhyme!  chime,  rhyme!  through  dales  and  dells! 

And  I  galloped  and  I  galloped  on  my  palfrey  white  as  milk, 

My  robe  of  the  sea-green  vroof ,  my  scrk  was  of  the  silk  ; 

My  hair  was  golden  yellow,  and  it  floated  to  my  shoe; 

My  eyes  were  like  two  harebells  bathed  in  little  drops  of  dew ; 

My  palfrey,  never  stopping,  made  a  music  sweetly  blent 

With  the  leaves  of  autumn  dropping  all  around  me  as  I  went; 

And  I  heard  the  bells,  grown  fainter,  far  behind  me  peal  and  play, 

Fainter,  fainter,  fainter,  till  they  seemed  to  die  away; 

And  beside  a  silver  runnel,  on  a  little  heap  of  sand, 

I  saw  the  green  gnome  sitting,  with  his  cheek  upon  his  hand. 

Then  he  started  up  to  see  me,  and  he  ran  with  cry  and  bound, 

And  drew  me  from  my  palfrey  white  and  set  me  on  the  ground. 

0  crimson,  crimson  were  his  locks,  his  face  was  green  to  see, 
But  he  cried,  "  O  light-haired  lassie,  you  are  bound  to  marry  me !  "^ 
He  clasped  me  round  the  middle  small,  he  kissed  me  on  the  cheek, 
He  kissed  me  once,  he  kissed  me  twice, —  I   could  not  stir  o^ 

speak ; 
He  kissed  me  twice,  he  kissed  me  thrice, —  but  when  he  kissed 
again, 

1  called  aloud  upon  the  name  of  Him  who  died  for  men. 

Sing,  sing!  ring,  ring!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 

Chime,  rhyme!  chime,  rhyme!  through  dales  and  dells! 

O  faintly,  faintly,  faintly,  calling  men  and  maids  to  pray, 
So  faintly,  faintly,  faintly,  rang  the  bells  far  away; 


MISCELLANEOUS  477 

And  as  I  named  the  Blessed  Name,  as  in  our  need  we  can, 
The  ugly  green,  green  gnome  became  a  tall  and  comely  man: 
His  hands  were  white,  his  beard  was  gold,  his  eyes  were  black  as 

sloes. 
His  tunic  was  of  scarlet  woof,  and  silken  were  his  hose ; 
A  pensive  light  from  Faeryland  still  lingered  on  his  cheek, 
His  voice  was  like  the  running  brook,  when  he  began  to  speak; 
**  O,  you  have  cast  away  the  charm  my  step-dame  put  on  me, 
Seven  years  I  dwelt  in  Faeryland,  and  you  have  set  me  free. 
O,  I  will  mount  thy  palfrey  white,  and  ride  to  kirk  with  thee, 
And,  by  those  little  dewy  eyes,  we  twain  will  wedded  be!  ^* 

Back  we  galloped,  never  stopping,  he  before  and  I  behind, 

And  the  autumn  leaves  were  dropping,  red  and  yellow,  in  the 

wind: 
And  the  sun  was  shining  clearer,  and  my  heart  was  high  and  proud, 
As  nearer,  nearer,  nearer  rang  the  kirk  bells  sweet  and  loud. 
And  we  saw  the  kirk  before  us,  as  we  trotted  down  the  fells, 
And  nearer,  clearer,  o'er  us,  rang  the  welcome  of  the  bells. 

Ring,  sing!  ring,  sing!  pleasant  Sabbath  bells! 
Chime,  rhyme!  chime,  rhyme!  over  fields  and  fells! 

—  Robert  Buchanan. 


ROMOLA  AND  SAVONAROLA 

By  the  early  morning  light,  a  woman  in  the  dress  of  a  nun 
was  seen  walking  along  a  road  which  led  from  Florence.  She 
passed  the  gate,  paused  under  a  cypress-tree,  lifted  up  the  hanging 
roof  of  her  cowl,  and  looked  before  her.  It  was  Romola  hurrying 
away  from  the  breath  of  soft  hated  lips  warm  upon  her  cheek,  the 
breath  of  an  odious  mind  stifling  her  own. 

All  things  conspired  to  give  her  the  sense  of  freedom  and  soli- 
tude ;  her  escape  from  the  accustomed  walls  and  streets,  the  widen- 
ing distance  from  her  husband,  the  morning  stillness,  the  great 
dip  of  ground  on  the  roadside  making  a  gulf  between  her  and 
the  somber  calm  of  the  mountains.  She  was  alone  in  the  presence 
of  the  earth  and  sky,  with  no  human  presence  interposing  and 
making  law  for  her. 

Suddenly  a  voice  close  to  her  said  — "  You  are  Romola  de  Bardi, 
the  wife  of  Tito  Melema."    She  knew  the  voice;  it  had  vibrated 


478  CHOICE  READINGS 

through  her  more  than  once  before;  and  because  she  knew  it,  she 
did  not  turn  round  or  look  up.  She  sat  shaken  by  awe,  and  yet 
inwardly  rebelling  against  the  awe.  It  was  one  of  those  black- 
skirted  monks  who  was  daring  to  speak  to  her,  that  was  all.  And 
yet  she  was  shaken,  as  if  that  destiny  which  men  thought  of  as  a 
sceptered  deity  had  come  to  her  and  grasped  her  with  fingers  of 
flesh. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  speak  to  me,  or  to  hinder  me?" 

"  The  right  of  a  messenger.  You  have  put  on  a  religious  garb, 
and  you  have  no  religious  purpose.  You  have  sought  the  garb 
as  a  disguise.  But  you  were  not  suffered  to  pass  me  without 
being  discerned.  It  was  declared  to  me  who  you  were;  it  is 
declared  to  me  that  you  are  seeking  to  escape  from  the  lot  God 
has  laid  upon  you.  You  wish  your  true  name  and  your  true  place 
in  life  to  be  hidden,  that  you  may  choose  for  yourself  a  new  name 
and  a  new  place,  and  have  no  rule  but  your  own  will.  And  I 
have  a  command  to  call  you  back.  My  daughter,  you  must  return 
to  your  place.'' 

"  I  will  not  return.  I  acknowledge  no  right  of  priest  or  monk 
to  interfere  with  my  actions.   You  have  no  power  over  me.'' 

"  But  it  is  not  the  poor  monk  who  claims  to  interfere  with 
you;  it  is  the  truth  that  commands  you.  And  you  cannot  escape 
it.  Either  you  must  obey  it,  and  it  will  lead  you;  or  you  must 
disobey  it,  and  it  will  hang  on  you  with  the  weight  of  a  chain 
which  will  drag  you  forever." 

Romola  turned  with  anger  in  her  eyes  and  faced  the  speaker, 
Savonarola.  She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he  was,  and  their  faces 
were  almost  on  a  level.  At  the  look  on  his  face,  the  defiant  words 
fell  back  without  utterance,  and  she  was  constrained  to  plead: 
"  My  father,  you  cannot  know  the  reasons  which  compel  me  to 
go.  None  can  know  them  but  myself.  None  can  judge  for  me.  I 
have  been  driven  by  a  great  sorrow.   I  am  resolved  to  go." 

"I  know  enough,  my  daughter!  You  are  not  happy  in  your 
married  life;  you  were  warned  by  a  message  from  heaven,  delivered 
in  my  presence  —  you  were  warned  before  marriage,  when  you 
might  still  have  lawfully  chosen  to  be  free  from  the  marriage  bond, 
But  you  chose  the  bond ;  and  in  willfully  breaking  it,  you  are  break- 
ing a  pledge.  Of  what  wrongs  will  you  complain  when  you  your- 
self are  breaking  the  simplest  law  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  th'^ 
trust  which  binds  man  to  man  —  faithfulness  to  the  spoken  word  ? 


'MISCELLANEOUS  479 

And  to  break  that  pledge  you  fly  from  Florence;  Florence,  where 
there  are  the  only  men  and  women  in  the  world  to  whom  you 
owe  the  debt  of  fellow-citizen.  I  have  a  divine  warrant  to  stop 
you!" 

"  I  was  not  going  away  to  ease  and  self-indulgence.  I  was 
going  away  to  hardship.   I  expect  no  joy;  it  is  gone  from  my  life." 

*'  You  are  seeking  your  own  will,  my  daughter.  You  are 
seeking  some  good  other  than  the  law  you  are  bound  to  obey. 
But  how  will  you  find  good?  It  is  not  a  thing  of  choice;  it  is  a 
river  that  flows  from  the  Invisible  Throne,  and  flows  in  the  path 
of  obedience.  I  say  again,  man  cannot  choose  his  duties.  You  may 
choose  to  forsake  your  duties,  and  choose  not  to  have  the  sorrow 
they  bring.  But  you  will  go  forth;  and  what  will  you  find,  my 
daughter  ?  Sorrow  w^ithout  duty  —  bitter  herbs,  and  no  bread 
with  them." 

"  But  if  you  knew,  if  you  knew  what  it  is  to  me  —  how  impos- 
sible it  seemed  to  me  to  bear  it!  " 

"  My  daughter,  you  carry  something  within  your  mantle;  draw 
it  forth  and  look  at  it!  " 

She  drew  forth  the  crucifix.    Still  pointing  toward  it,  he  said: 

"  There,  my  daughter,  is  the  image  of  a  supreme  offering,  made 
by  a  supreme  love,  because  the  need  of  man  was  great.  Conform 
your  life  to  that  image.  If  you  forsake  your  place,  who  will  fill  it? 
Ask  your  conscience,  my  daughter.  You  are  a  wife.  You  seek  to 
break  ties  in  self-will  and  anger,  not  because  the  higher  life  calls 
upon  you  to  renounce  them.  The  higher  life  begins  for  us  when 
we  renounce  our  own  will  to  bow  before  a  Divine  Law.  If  there 
is  wickedness  in  the  streets,  your  steps  should  shine  with  the  light 
of  purity;  if  there  is  a  cry  of  anguish,  you,  because  you  know  the 
meaning  of  the  cry,  should  be  there  to  still  it.  My  beloved  daugh- 
ter, sorrow  has  come  to  teach  you  a  new  worship;  the  sign  of  it 
hangs  before  you." 

"  My  husband  —  he  is  not  —  my  love  is  gone !  " 

"  My  daughter,  there  is  the  bond  of  higher  love.  If  the  cross 
comes  to  you  as  a  wife,  you  must  carry  it  as  a  wife.  You  may 
say,  *  I  will  forsake  my  husband,*  but  you  cannot  cease  to  be  a 
wife.  Live  for  Florence  —  for  your  own  people.  Bear  the  anguish 
and  the  smart.  The  iron  is  sharp  —  I  know,  I  know  —  it  rends  the 
tender  flesh.    The  draught  is  bitterness  on  the  lips.     But  there  is 


480  CHOICE  READINGS 

rapture  in  the  cup  —  there  is  the  vision  which  makes  all  life  below 
it  lost  forever.   Come,  my  daughter,  come  back  to  your  place!  " 
*'  Father,  I  will  be  guided.  Teach  me!   I  will  go  back." 
Almost    unconsciously   she   sank   on    her   knees.      Savonarola 
stretched  out  his  hands  over  her;  but  feeling  would  no  longer 
pass  through  the  channel  of  speech,  and  he  was  silent. 

—  George  Eliot. 


THE  FORGING  OF  THE  ANCHOR 

Come,  see  the  Dolphin's  anchor  forged ;  't  is  at  a  white  heat  now: 
The  billows  ceased,  the  flames  decreased;  though  on  the  forge's 

brow 
The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the  sable  mound; 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths  ranking  round, 
All  clad  in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad  hands  only  bare; 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work  the  windlass  there. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle-chains,  the  black  mound  heaves 

below, 
And  red  and  deep  a  hundred  veins  burst  out  at  every  throe; 
It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright, —  O  Vulcan,  what  a  glow! 
'T  is  blinding  white,    't  is  blasting  bright,   the  high  sun  shines 

not  so ! 
The  high  sun  sees  not,  on  the  earth,  such  fiery  fearful  show, — 
The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the  ruddy,  lurid  row 
Of  smiths  that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like  men  before  the  foe; 
As,  quivering  through  his  fleece  of  flame,  the  sailing  monster  slow 
Sinks  on  the  anvil, —  all  about  the  faces  fiery  grow ; 
"  Hurrah !  "  they  shout,  "  leap  out,  leap  out :  "  bang,  bang,  th« 

sledges  go; 
Hurrah !  the  jetted  lightnings  are  hissing  high  and  low ; 
A  hailing  fount  of  fire  is  struck  at  every  squashing  blow; 
The  leathern  mail  rebounds  the  hail ;  the  rattling  cinders  strew 
The  ground  around ;  at  every  bound  the  sweltering  fountains  flow ; 
And  thick  and  loud  the  swinking  crowd,  at  every  stroke,  pant 

"Ho!" 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters;  leap  out  and  lay  on  load! 
Let 's  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  a  bower,  thick  and  broad ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  481 

For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow,  I  bode, 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  perilous  road  ; 
The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lee,  the  roll  of  ocean  poured 
From  stem  to  stern,  sea  after  sea,  the  mainmast  by  the  board. 
The  bulwarks  down,   the   rudder  gone,   the  boats  stove  at  the 

chains ; 
But  courage  still,  brave  mariners,  the  bower  still  remains. 
And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns  save  when  ye  pitch  sky-high, 
Then  moves  his  head,  as  though  he  said,  *' Fear  nothing, —  here 

am  I!'^ 
Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order,  let  foot  and  hand  keep  time. 
Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far  than  any  steeple's  chime! 
But  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing ;  and  let  the  burden  be, 
The  Anchor  is  the  Anvil  King,  and  royal  craftsmen  we  ; 
Strike  in,  strike  in,  the  sparks  begin  to  dull  their  rustling  red! 
Our  hammers  ring  with  sharper  din,  our  work  will  soon  be  sped ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  fiery  rich  array 
For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an  oozy  couch  of  clay  ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  the  lay  of  merry  craftsmen  here. 
For  the  Yeo-heave-o,  and  the  Heave-away,  and  the  sighing  sea- 
man's cheer; 
When,  weighing  slow,  at  eve  they  go  far,  far  from  love  and  home. 
And  sobbing  sweethearts,  in  a  row,  wail  o'er  the  ocean  foam. 

In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom,  he  darkens  down  at  last. 
A  shapely  one  he  is,  and  strong,  as  e'er  from  cat  was  cast. 
A  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard,  if  thou  hadst  life  like  me. 
What  pleasures  would  thy  toils  reward  beneath  the  deep  green 

sea! 
O  deep  sea-diver,  who  might  then  behold  such  sights  as  thou? 
The  hoary  monsters'  palaces!  methinks  what  joy  't  were  now 
To  go  plump  plunging  down  amid  the  assembly  of  the  whales, 
And  feel  the  churaed  sea  round  me  boil  beneath  their  scourging 

tails! 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

—  Samuel  Ferguson, 


482  CHOICE  READINGS 

THE  VOICES  AT  THE  THRONE 

A  little  child, 

A  little  meek-faced,  quiet  village  child, 

Sat  singing  by  her  cottage  door  at  eve 

A  low,  sweet  Sabbath  song.     No  human  ear 

Caught  the  faint  melody, —  no  human  eye 

Beheld  the  upturned  aspect,  or  the  smile 

That  wreathed  her  innocent  lips  while  they  breathed 

The  oft-repeated  burden  of  the  hymn, 

*^  Praise  God!  Praise  God!'' 

A  seraph  by  the  throne 
In  full  glory  stood.    With  eager  hand 
He  smote  the  golden  harp-string,  till  a  flood 
Of  harmony  on  the  celestial  air 
Welled  forth,  unceasing.    There,  with  a  great  voice 
He  sang  the  "  Holy,  holy  evermore. 
Lord  God  Almighty! ''  and  the  eternal  courts 
Thrilled  with  the  rapture,  and  the  hierarchies. 
Angel,  and  rapt  archangel,  throbbed  and  burned 
With  vehement  adoration. 

Higher  yet 
Rose  the  majestic  anthem,  without  pause, 
Higher,  with  rich  magnificence  of  sound, 
To  its  full  strength;  and  still  the  infinite  heavens 
Rang  with  the  "  Holy,  holy  evermore!  " 
Till,  trembling  with  excessive  awe  and  love, 
Each  sceptered  spirit  sank  before  the  throne 
With  a  mute  hallelujah. 

But  even  then, 
While  the  ecstatic  song  was  at  its  height. 
Stole  in  an  alien  voice  —  a  voice  that  seemed 
To  float,  float  upward  from  some  world  afar  — 
A  meek  and  childlike  voice,  faint,  but  how  sweet! 
Thar  blended  with  the  spirits'  rushing  strain^ 
Even  as  a  fountain's  music  with  the  roll 
Of  the  reverberate  thunder. 


MISCELLANEOUS  483 

Loving  smiles 
Lit  up  the  beauty  of  each  angel's  face 
At  that  new  utterance,  smiles  of  joy  that  grew 
More  joyous  yet,  as  ever  and  anon 
Was  heard  the  simple  burden  of  the  hymn, 
"Praise  God!     Praise  God!'^ 

And  when  the  seraph's  song 
Had  reached  its  close,  and  o'er  the  golden  lyre 
Silence  hung  brooding, —  when  the  eternal  courts 
Rang  with  the  echoes  of  his  chant  sublime. 
Still  through  the  abysmal  space  that  wandering  voice 
Came  floating  upward  from  its  world  afar. 
Still  murmured  sweet  on  the  celestial  air, 
"Praise  God!    Praise  God!" 

—  T,  Westwood.. 


LADY  CLARE 

It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow. 
And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air. 

Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe 
To  give  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare. 

I  trow  they  did  not  part  in  scorn: 
Lovers  long-betroth'd  were  they: 

They  two  will  wed  the  morrow  morn; 
God's  blessing  on  the  day! 

'  He  does  not  love  me  for  my  birth, 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair; 
He  loves  me  for  my  own  true  worth, 
And  that  is  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse, 

Said,  "  Who  was  this  that  went  from  thee  ?  ' 
"  It  was  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 

"  To-morrow  he  weds  with  me." 

"  O,  God  be  thank'd!  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"That  all  comes  round  so  just  and  fair; 

Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands. 
And  you  are  not  the  Lady  Clare." 


484  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Are  ye  out  of  your  mind,  my  nurse,  my  nurse,** 
Said  Lady  Clare,  "  that  ye  speak  so  wild  ?  '' 

"  As  God  's  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  I  speak  the  truth :  you  are  my  child. 

"  The  old  Earl's  daughter  died  at  my  breast; 

I  speak  the  truth,  as  I  live  by  bread! 
I  buried  her  like  my  ow^n  sw^eet  child, 

And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"  Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 

O  mother,"  she  said,  "  if  this  be  true;  — 

To  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
So  many  years  from  his  due." 

"  Nay,  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  But  keep  the  secret  for  your  life, 

And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's, 
When  you  are  man  and  wife." 

"  If  I  *m  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
"  I  will  speak  out,  for  I  dare  not  lie. 

Pull  off,  pull  off  the  brooch  of  gold. 
And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by." 

"  Nay,  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can." 

She  said,  "  Not  so ;  but  I  will  know 
If  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  Nay,  now,  what  faith?  "  said  Alice  the  nurse: 
''  The  man  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 

**  And  he  shall  have  it,"  the  lady  replied, 
"  Though  I  should  die  to-night." 

"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear ! 

Alas,  my  child,  I  sinn'd  for  thee." 
"  O  mother,  mother,  mother,"  she  said, 

"  So  strange  it  seems  to  me. 

"  Yet  here  's  a  kiss  for  my  mother  dear, 

My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so. 
And  lay  your  hand  upon  my  head, 

And  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  go." 


MISCELLANEOUS  485 

She  clad  herself  in  a  russet  gown, 

She  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare: 
She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by  down, 

With  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 

The  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald  had  brought 

Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay, 
Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand, 

And  foUow'd  her  all  the  way. 

Down  stept  Lord  Ronald  from  his  tower: 
"  O  Lady  Clare,  you  shame  your  worth ! 

Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid, 
That  are  the  flower  of  the  Earth?" 

"  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid, 

I  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are: 
I  am  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 

"  And  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  For  I  am  yours  in  word  and  in  deed ; 

Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 

O,  and  proudly  stood  she  up! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail: 
She  looked  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes, 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 

He  laugh'd  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn; 

He  turn'd  and  kiss'd  her  where  she  stood: 
"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born. 

And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  next  in  blood, — 

**  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born, 

And  I,"  said  he,  **  the  lawful  heir. 
We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn, 

And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare." 

—  Lord  Tennyson* 


4«(i  CHOICE  READINGS 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  SWANKS  NEST 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone 
'Mid  the  beaches  of  a  meadow 

By  a  stream-side  on  the  grass; 

And  the  trees  are  showering  down 
Doubles  of  their  leaves  in  shadow 

On  her  shining  hair  and  face. 

She  has  thrown  her  bonnet  by, 
And  her  feet  she  has  been  dipping 

In  the  shallow  water's  flow: 

Now  she  holds  them  nakedly 
In  her  hands,  all  sleek  and  dripping, 

While  she  rocketh  to  and  fro. 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone, 
And  the  smile  she  softly  uses 

Fills  the  silence  like  a  speech, 

While  she  thinks  what  shall  be  done, 
And  the  sweetest  pleasure  chooses 

For  her  future  within  reach. 

Little  Ellie  in  her  smile 
Chooses  —  **  I  will  have  a  lover. 

Riding  on  a  steed  of  steeds: 

He  shall  love  me  without  guile, 
And  to  him  I  will  discover 

The  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 

"  And  the  steed  shall  be  red-roan, 
And  the  lover  shall  be  noble, 

With  an  eye  that  takes  the  breath: 

And  the  lute  he  plays  upon 
Shall  strike  ladies  into  trouble. 

As  his  sword  strikes  men  to  death, 

"  And  the  steed  it  shall  be  shod 
All  in  silver,  housed  in  azure, 

And  the  mane  shall  swim  the  wind; 

And  the  hoofs  along  the  sod 
Shall  flash  onward  and  keep  measure. 

Till  the  shepherds  look  behind. 


MISCELLANEOUS  48T 

"  But  my  lover  will  not  prize 
All  the  glory  that  he  rides  in, 

When  he  gazes  in  my  face: 

He  will  say,  *  O  Love,  thine  eyes 
Build  the  shrine  my  soul  abides  in, 

And  I  kneel  here  for  thy  grace ! ' 

"Then,  ay,  then  he  shall  kneel  low, 
With  the  red-roan  steed  anear  him. 

Which  shall  seem  to  understand. 

Till  I  answer,  *  Rise  and  go ! 
For  the  world  must  love  and  fear  him 

Whom  I  gift  with  heart  and  hand/ 

"  Then  he  will  arise  so  pale, 
I  shall  feel  my  own  lips  tremble 

With  a  yes  I  must  not  say: 

Nathless  maiden-brave,  '  Farewell,' 
I  will  utter,  and  dissemble  — 

*  Light  to-morrow  with  to-day ! ' 

"  Then  he  '11  ride  among  the  hills 
To  the  wide  world  past  the  river, 

There  to  put  away  all  wrong, 

To  make  straight  distorted  wills. 
And  to  empty  the  broad  quiver 

Which  the  wicked  bear  along. 

"  Three  times  shall  a  young  foot-page 
Swim  the  stream  and  climb  the  mountain 
And  kneel  down  beside  my  feet  — 

*  Lo,  my  master  sends  this  gage, 
Lady,  for  thy  pity's  counting! 

What  wilt  thou  exchange  for  it  ? ' 

"And  the  first  time,  I  will  send 
A  white  rosebud  for  a  guerdon; 

And  the  second  time,  a  glove; 

But  the  third  time  —  I  may  bend 
From  my  pride,  and  answer  — '  Pardon^; 

If  he  comes  to  take  my  love.' 


488  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Then  the  young  foot-page  will  run, 
Then  my  lover  will  ride  faster, 

Till  he  knceleth  at  my  knee: 

*  I  am  a  duke's  eldest  son, 
Thousand  serfs  do  call  me  master, 

But,  O  Love,  I  love  but  thee ! ' 

"  He  will  kiss  me  on  the  mouth 
Then,  and  lead  me  as  a  lover 

Through  the  crowds  that  praise  his  deeds, 

And,  when  soul-tied  by  one  troth, 
Unto  him  I  will  discover 

That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds." 

Little  EUie,  with  her  smile 
Not  yet  ended,  rose  up  gayly, 

Tied  the  bonnet,  donn'd  the  shoe, 

And  went  homeward,  round  a  mile, 
Just  to  see,  as  she  did  daily, 

iWhat  more  eggs  were  with  the  twe. 

Pushing  through  the  elm-tree  copse. 
Winding  up  the  stream,  light-hearted, 

Where  the  osier  pathway  leads. 

Past  the  boughs  she  stoops  —  and  stops. 
Lo,  the  wild  swan  had  deserted, 

And  a  rat  had  gnaw'd  the  reeds! 

EUie  went  home  sad  and  slow. 
If  she  found  the  lover  ever, 

With  his  red-roan  steed  of  steeds. 

Sooth  I  know  not;  but  I  know 
She  could  never  show  him, —  never. 

That  swanks  nest  among  the  reeds! 

—  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


MISCELLANEOUS  489 

SCENE  FROM  HENRY  THE  FOURTH 

Enter  King  Henry,  Northumberland,  Worcester,  Hot- 
spur, Sir  Walter  Blunt,  and  others. 

King.  My  blood  hath  been  too  cold  and  temperate, 
Unapt  to  stir  at  these  indignities. 
As  you  have  found  me;  for,  accordingly, 
You  tread  upon  my  patience:  but  be  sure 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  myself. 
Mighty  and  to  be  fear'd,  than  my  condition. 

Wor,  Our  House,  my  sovereign  liege,  little  deserves 
The  scourge  of  greatness  to  be  used  on  it; 
And  that  same  greatness  too  which  our  own  hands 
Have  holp  to  make  so  portly. 

King.  Worcester,  get  thee  gone;  for  I  do  see 
Danger  and  disobedience  in  thine  eye: 
You  were  about  to  speak,  my  Lord  Northumberland. 

North,  Yea,   my  good  lord* 

Those  prisoners  in  your  Highness'  name  demanded, 
Which  Harry  Percy  here  at  Holmedon  took, 
Were,  as  he  says,  not  with  such  strength  denied 
As  is  delivered  to  your  Majesty: 
Either  envy,  therefore,  or  misprision 
Is  guilty  of  this  fault,  and  not  my  son. 

Hot.  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd. 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom;  and  his  chin,  new  reap'd, 
Showed  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home : 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took  't  away  again; 
And  still  he  smiled  and  talk'd; 
And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by. 
He  call'd  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 


490  CHOICE  READINGS 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 

He  questioned  me;  among  the  rest,  demanded 

My  prisoners  in  your  Majesty's  behalf. 

I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience 

To  be  so  pester'd  with  a  popinjay, 

Answer'd  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what, — 

He  should,  or  he  should  not ;  for  't  made  me  mad 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk  and  smell  so  sweet, 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman 

Of  guns  and  drums  and  wounds, —  God  save  the  markt- 

And  telling  me  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  Earth 

Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise; 

And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 

This  villainous  salt-petre  should  be  digged 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroy'd 

So  cowardly;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns. 

He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 

I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said; 
And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  Majesty. 

Blunt,  The  circumstance  consider'd,  good  my  lord. 
Whatever  Harry  Percy  then  had  said 
To  such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place. 
At  such  a  time,  with  all  the  rest  re-told, 
May  reasonably  die,  and  never  rise 
To  do  him  wrong,  or  any  way  impeach 
What  then  he  said,  so  he  unsay  it  now. 

King,  Why,  yet  he  doth  deny  his  prisoners, 
But  with  proviso  and  exception. 
That  we  at  our  own  charge  shall  ransom  straight 
His  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer; 
Who,  on  my  soul,  hath  willfully  bctray'd 
The  lives  of  those  that  he  did  lead  to  fight 
Against  the  great  magician,  damn'd  Glendower. 
Shall  our  coffers,  then. 


MISCELLANEOUS  491 

Be  emptied  to  redeem  a  traitor  home? 
Shall  we  buy  treason  ?  and  indent  with  fears 
When  they  have  lost  and  forfeited  themselves? 
No,  on  the  barren  mountains  let  him  starve; 
For  I  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend 
Whose  tongue  shall  ask  me  for  one  penny  cost 
To  ransom  home  revolted  Mortimer. 

Hot,  Revolted  Mortimer! 
He  never  did  fall  off,  my  sovereign  liege, 
But  by  the  chance  of  v/ar:  to  prove  that  true 
Needs  no  more  but  one  tongue  for  all  those  wounds, 
Those  mouthed  wounds,  which  valiantly  he  took, 
When  on  the  gentle  Severn's  sedgy  bank, 
In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand, 
He  did  confound  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
In  changing  hardiment  with  great  Glendower. 
Three  times  they  breathed,  and  three  times  did  they  drink^ 
Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn's  flood  ; 
Who  then,  affrighted  with  their  bloody  looks, 
Ran  fearfully  among  the  trembling  reeds. 
And  hid  his  crisp  head  in  the  hollow  bank 
Blood-stained  with  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  base  and  rotten  policy 
Color  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly: 
Then  let  him  not  be  slander'd  with  revolt. 

King,  Thou  dost  belie  him,  Percy,  thou  dost  belie  him; 
He  never  did  encounter  with  Glendower: 
I  tell  thee. 

He  durst  as  well  have  met  the  Devil  alone 
As  Owen  Glendower  for  an  enemy. 
Art  not  ashamed?     But,  sirrah,  from  henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer: 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means. 
Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you. —  My  Lord  Northumberland, 
We  license  your  departure  with  your  son. — 
Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you  '11  hear  of  it. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry,  Blunt,  ^z«^  train. 


492  CHOICE  READINGS 

HoU  And  if  the  Devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them:  I  will  after  straight, 
And  tell  him  so;  for  I  will  ease  my  heart, 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 

North.  What,  drunk  with  choler?  stay,  and  pause  awhile: 
Here  comes  your  uncle. 

Re-enter  Worcester. 

Hot.  Speak  of  Mortimer! 

Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him: 
Yea,  on  his  part  1 11  empty  all  these  veins. 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'  the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  i'  the  air  as  this  unthankful  King, 
As  this  ingrate  and  canker'd  Bolingbroke. 

Wor.  Who  struck  this  heat  up  after  I  was  gone? 

Hot.  He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners; 
And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  my  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  look'd  pale, 
And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death. 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

Wor.  Peace,  cousin,  say  no  mores 

And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontent 
I  11  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous; 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit 
As  to  o'er-walk  a  current  roaring  loud 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot,  If  we  fall  in,  good  night,  or  sink  or  swim! 
Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west. 
So  honor  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south, 
And  let  them  grapple.    O,  the  blood  more  stirs 
To  rouse  a  lion  than  to  start  a  hare ! 
By  Heaven,  methinks  it  were  an  easy  leap. 
To  pluck  bright  honor  from  the  pale-faced  Moon ; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks; 


MISCELLANEOUS  493 

But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship! 

IV or.  Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  awhile. 

Hot,  I  cry  you  mercy. 

Wor.  Those  same  noble  Scots 

That  are  your  prisoners, — 

Hot.  I  '11  keep  them  all ; 

By  Heaven,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them ; 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not : 
I  '11  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 

Wor.  You  start  away, 

And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep;  — 

Hot.  Nay,  I  will ;  that 's  flat. 

He  said  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer  ; 
Forbade  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer; 
But  I  will  find  him  when  he  lies  asleep, 
And  in  his  ear  I  11  holla  Mortimer! 
Nay, 

1 11  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak 
Nothing  but  Mortimer j  and  give  it  him. 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


BOAT  SONG 

FROM    "  THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE  " 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances! 

Honored  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine! 
Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances. 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 

While  every  Highland  glen 

Sends  back  our  shout  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !  '* 

Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  in  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  strippM  every  leaf  on  the  mountain. 

The  more  shall  Clan- Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 


494  CHOICE  READINGS 

Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 

Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow; 

Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 

Echo  his  praise  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !  '* 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 

And  Bannochar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied; 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch-Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. 
Widow  and  Saxon  maid 
Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan- Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe; 
Lennox  and  Leven-glen 
Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 
**  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !  '* 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands! 

Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever-green  Pine! 
O  that  the  rosebud  that  graces  yon  islands, 

Were  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine! 
O  that  some  seedling  gem. 
Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honor'd  and  bless'd  in  their  shadow  might  grow ! 
Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then 
Ring  from  her  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  1  ieroe  1  " 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  TRIAL  OF  BEN  THOMAS 

It  was  a  sultry  noon  and  JefiEersonville  was  brisk.  As  Jeffer- 
sonville  is  brisk  only  during  court  week,  it  may  be  inferred  that 
court  was  in  session. 

About  the  large  square  building  little  groups  of  farmers  were 
gathered.  Within  were  the  usual  courthouse  habitues, —  jurors 
who  hope  in  vain  to  "  get  off,"  and  citizens  of  limited  income 
who  yet  nope  to  "  get  on." 

Apparently,  there  was  nothing  exciting  on  hand  just  then, 
though   a   murder   trial   had   been   interrupted    by   a   temporary 


MISCELLANEOUS  495 

adjournment.  But  the  defendant  was  a  negro,  and  a  murder  by 
a  negro  was  not  a  novelty.  While  the  court  was  assembling,  the 
curious  might  have  noted  the  prisoner's  points.  His  face,  if  it 
had  any  marked  characteristic,  was  noted  chiefly  for  its  inex- 
pressive lines,  and  its  appearance  was  one  of  supreme  indiffer- 
ence. His  stout,  heavy  frame  was  clad  in  a  common  jean  suit 
stained  with  months  of  wear,  and  his  kinky  hair  was  sprinkled 
with  gray.  He  sat  quietly,  allowing  his  eyes  to  roam  from  face 
to  face  as  the  genial  conversation  drifted  about  in  the  groups 
around  him.  He  was  evidently  not  impressed  by  any  sense  of 
peril,  though,  when  the  court  had  adjourned,  a  clear  case  of 
murder  had  been  proved  against  him,  and  only  his  statement  and 
the  argument  remained. 

Slowly  the  court  assembled.  The  prisoner's  counsel  had 
introduced  no  testimony.  A  man  had  been  stabbed  by  his  client, 
had  fallen  dead,  his  hand  clasped  over  the  wound;  and  a  knife 
had  dropped,  which  the  defendant's  wife  had  seized  and  con- 
cealed.   This  had  been  proved  by  the  state's  witnesses. 

The  prisoner  took  the  stand  to  make  his  statement.  He 
declared  emphatically  that  the  deceased,  knife  in  hand,  had 
assaulted  him,  and  that  he  had  killed  him  in  self-defense;  that 
the  knife  which  fell  from  the  relaxing  hand  was  the  dead  man's. 
He  told  the  story  simply,  and  as  he  began  it  a  tall,  thick-set 
gentleman  in  a  gray  suit,  walking  with  the  aid  of  a  stout  stick, 
entered  the  room  and  stood  silently  at  the  door.  As  the  prisoner 
resumed  his  seat,  the  newcomer  entered  within  the  rail.  He 
shook  hands  gravely  with  a  number  of  the  older  lawyers,  and 
took  the  hand  the  court  extended  to  him  across  the  desk.  Then 
he  turned,  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  shook  hands 
with  the  defendant,  into  whose  face  a  light  had  suddenly  dawned, 
which  resolved  itself  into  a  broad,  silent  grin.  This  done,  the 
old  gentleman  seated  himself  near  the  defendant's  lawyer,  and, 
leaning  heavily  on  his  massive  cane,  listened  attentively  to  the 
speech. 

The  soeaker  was  not  verbose.  He  rapidly  summed  up,  and 
laid  the  case  before  the  jury  in  its  best  light.  Really  there  wa? 
not  much  to  be  said,  and  he  soon  reached  his  peroi^tion.  He 
pictured  the  blasted  home  of  the  iicgro ;  his  wife  and  babe  deprived 
of  his  labor;  and  dwelt  long  on  the  good  name  he  had  always 


496  CHOICE  READINGS 

borne.  After  summing  up,  he  took  his  hat  and  books  and  retired 
to  a  secluded  part  of  the  room. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  arose,  and,  with  a  few  cold  words, 
swept  away  the  cobwebs  of  the  case,  "  The  man  had  stabbed 
another  wantonly.  If  the  knife  were  the  property  of  the  deceased, 
why  was  it  not  produced  in  court?  The  defendant's  wife  had 
picked  it  up." 

He  passed  the  case  to  the  jury,  and  the  judge  prepared  to 
deliver  his  charge,  when  the  old  gentleman  in  gray  rose  to  his 
feet.  "  If  your  Honor  please,  the  prisoner  is  entitled  to  the  clos- 
ing, and,  in  absence  of  other  counsel,  I  beg  you  to  mark  my  name 
for  the  defendant.'* 

*'  Mr.  Clerk,'*  said  the  court,  "  mark  General  Robert  Thomas 
for  the  defense."  The  silence  was  absolute;  something  new  was 
coming.  Only  this  old  man,  gray,  grim,  and  majestically  defiant, 
stood  between  the  negro  and  the  grave. 

"  The  knife  that  was  found  by  the  dead  man's  side  was  his 
own.  He  had  drawn  it  before  he  was  stabbed.  Ben  Thomas  is 
a  brave  man,  a  strong  man;  he  would  not  have  used  a  weapon 
upon  him  unarmed."  As  he  spoke  he  drew  from  his  bosom  a 
long,  keen  knife,  and  rested  its  point  gently  on  the  table. 

"It  has  been  asked,  *  Where  is  the  dead  man's  knife?'  Let 
me  give  you  my  theory:  When  Bill  Fowler  staggered  back  under 
the  blow  of  Ben  Thomas,  clutching  his  wound,  and  the  knife 
fell  to  the  ground,  the  lightning's  flash  was  not  quicker  than 
the  change  born  in  a  moment  in  the  bosom  of  that  erring 
woman,  the  unwitting  cause  of  the  tragedy.  Up  to  this  time  she 
had  been  weak  and  yielding;  she  had  turned  aside  from  the  little 
home  to  gamble  with  strange  men.  In  the  awful  moment  of  that 
tragedy,  when  the  dancers  stood  horrified,  this  woman  became,  by 
an  inspiration,  a  wife  again.  Deceived  herself,  she  caught  up 
the  tell-tale  knife,  and  hurled  it  into  the  swamp,  destroying  evi- 
dence of  her  husband's  innocence,  when  she  thought  to  have 
destroyed  one  proof  of  his  guilt.  This  I  say  is  a  theory.  You 
remember  her  cry  was,  *  Run ! ' 

**  But  there  is  another  evidence,  gentlemen  of  the  jury. 
Should  I  be  forced  to  ask  for  a  new  trial,  it  will  be  developed 
that  this  poor  woman,  repentant  now,  thank  God,  walked,  in 
three  days,  from  the  scene  of  that  tragedy  to  my  home,  seventy 
miles,  to  ask  my  aid  and  counsel;  that  eluding  me  at  Macon, 


MISCELLANEOUS  497 

though  footsore  and  weary  and  crazed  with  grief,  she  returned 
to  the  swamp,  and  laboring  under  an  excitement  that  brought  the 
scene  so  vividly  to  her  mind  that  she  was  enabled  to  find  the 
knife,  did  find  it,  and  but  that  an  accident  to  my  vehicle  delayed 
me,  it  would  have  been  produced  here  in  evidence  —  *' 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,  much  as  I  dislike  to  interrupt 
the  honorable  gentleman,  I  do  not  think  it  is  proper  to  introduce 
with  the  argument,  evidence  that  has  not  been  given  upon  trial." 

"  If  your  Honor  please,  a  decision  upon  such  a  proposition 
is  not  needed.  I  willingly  admit  all  that  is  claimed.  But,  sir,  I 
ofEer  no  evidence,  not  even  this  knife,  with  the  name  of  the 
deceased  upon  it,  though  it  comes  to  me  direct  from  the  hand  of 
the  woman  who,  it  has  been  proved,  snatched  from  under  his 
hand  a  weapon  when  he  fell  to  the  ground.  I  am  but  arguing  a 
theory  to  account  for  the  facts  that  have  been  proved.  But, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  not  upon  this  theory,  not  upon  these  facts, 
do  I  base  the  assertion  that  the  deceased  had  a  knife  in  his  hand 
when  he  made  the  assault.  I  speak  from  a  knowledge  of  men. 
Ben  Thomas  would  never  have  stabbed  an  unarmed  man.  Why 
do  I  say  this?  Because  I  know  he  is  as  brave  a  man  as  ever 
faced  death;  a  faithful  man;  a  powerful  man,  and  conscious  of 
his  power.  Such  men  do  not  use  weapons  upon  unarmed  assail- 
ants. I  speak  to  men  who  reason.  True  reasoning  with  such  is 
as  strong  as  proof.  A  brave  man  who  is  full  of  strength  never 
draws  a  weapon  to  repel  a  single  assailant.  The  defendant  drew 
when  he  saw  a  glittering  weapon  in  the  hand  of  his  foe, —  not 
from  fear,  because  he  could  have  fled,  but  to  equalize  the  combat. 

"Why  do  I  say  he  is  brave?  Every  man  on  this  jury  shoul- 
dered his  musket  during  the  war.  Most  of  you  followed  the 
lamented  Pickett.  Some,  perhaps,  were  at  Gettysburg,  I  was 
there,  too!  I,  and  the  only  brother  God  ever  gave  me!  A  part 
of  him  is  there  yet  —  a  part  of  him,  but  not  all ;  for,  praise  God, 
we  picked  up  whatever  was  left  of  him  and  brought  it  back  to 
Georgia.  I  well  remember  that  fight.  The  enemy  stood  brave 
and  determined,  and  met  our  charges  with  a  courage  and  grit 
that  could  not  be  shaken.  Line  after  line  melted  away  during 
those  days,  and  at  last  came  Pickett's  charge.  When  that  magni- 
ficent command  went  in,  a  negro  man,  a  captain's  body-servant, 
stood  behind  it  waiting. 

"  You  know  the  result. 


498  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  Out  of  that  vortex  of  flame  and  that  storm  of  lead  and  iron, 
a  handful  drifted  back.  From  one  to  another  this  man  of  black 
skin  ran,  then  returned  and  followed  in  the  track  of  the  charge. 
On,  on  he  went,  on  through  the  smoke  and  flame;  on  up  to  the 
flaming  cannon  themselves.  There  he  bent  and  lifted  a  form 
from  the  ground.  Together  they  fell  and  rose,  until,  meeting 
them  half-way,  I  took  the  burden  from  the  hero  and  myself  bore 
it  on  in  safety.  That  burden  was  the  senseless  form  of  my 
brother;  gashed,  and  bleeding,  and  mangled,  but  alive,  thank 
God!  And  the  man  who  bore  him  out,  who  came  to  me  with 
him  in  his  arms,  himself  shot  with  the  fragments  of  a  shell  until 
his  great  heart  was  nearly  dropping  from  his  breast  —  that  man, 
O  my  friends,  sits  here  under  my  hand.  See  if  I  speak  not  the 
truth.  Do  you  see  that  scar  which  marks  his  breast  from  left 
to  right?  That  scar  was  won  by  a  slave  in  an  hour  that  tried 
the  souls  of  freemen,  and  put  to  its  test  the  best  manhood  of  the 
South.  No  man  who  wins  such  wounds  can  thrust  a  knife  into 
an  unarmed  assailant.  I  have  come  seventy  miles  in  my  old  age 
to  say  it." 

It  may  have  been  contrary  to  the  evidence,  but  the  jury» 
without  leaving  the  room,  returned  a  verdict  of  "  Not  guilty.'* 

—  H.  S.  Edwards. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  RISING 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came, 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame. 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 
And  there  was  tumult  in  the  air. 

The  fife's  shrill  note,  the  drum's  loud  beat, 
And  through  the  wide  land  everywhere 

The  answering  tread  of  hurrying  feet; 
While  the  first  oath  of  Freedom's  gun 
Came  on  the  blast  from  Lexington; 
And  Concord  roused,  no  longer  tame, 
Forgot  her  old  baptismal  name. 
Made  bare  her  patriot  arm  of  power, 
And  swelled  the  discord  of  the  hour. 


MISCELLANEOUS  499 

Within  Its  shade  of  elm  and  oak 

The  church  of  Berkley  Manor  stood; 
There  Sunday  found  the  rural  folk, 

And  some  esteemed  of  gentle  blood. 

In  vain  their  feet  with  loitering  tread 
Passed  mid  the  graves  where  rank  is  naught ; 
All  could  not  read  the  lesson  taught 

In  that  republic  of  the  dead. 
How  sweet  the  hour  of  Sabbath  talk, 

The  vale  with  peace  and  sunshine  full, 
Where  all  the  happy  people  walk, 

Decked  in  their  homespun  flax  and  wool; 

Where  youth's  gay  hats  with  blossoms  bloom; 
And  every  maid,  with  simple  art, 
Wears  on  her  breast,  like  her  own  heart, 

A  bud  whose  depths  are  all  perfume; 
While  every  garment's  gentle  stir 
Is  breathing  rose  and  lavender. 

The  pastor  came;  his  snowy  locks 

Hallowed  his  brow  of  thought  and  care; 

And  calmly,  as  shepherds  lead  their  flocks, 
He  led  into  the  house  of  prayer. 

Then  soon  he  rose;  the  prayer  was  strong; 

The  Psalm  was  warrior  David's  song; 

The  text,  a  few  short  words  of  might  — 

"  The  Lord  of  Hosts  shall  arm  the  right!  '* 

He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured, 
Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured; 
Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 
The  startling  words  for  freedom  came. 
The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 
Compelled  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake. 
And,  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing, 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brand, 
In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 
Defiance  to  a  tyrant  king. 


500  CHOICE  READINGS 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  frame,  renewed 
In  eloquence  of  attitude, 
Rose,  as  it  seemed,  a  shoulder  higher  ; 
Then  swept  his  kindling  glance  of  fire 
^    From  startled  pew  to  breathless  choir; 
y^^       When  suddenly  his  mantle  wide. 
His  hands  impatient  flung  aside, 
And,  lo!  he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior's  guise. 
A  moment  there  was  awful  pause  — 
When  Berkley  cried,  *'  Cease,  traitor,  cease! 
God's  temple  is  the  house  of  peace!  " 

The  other  shouted,  "  Nay,  not  so, 
When  God  is  with  our  righteous  cause; 
His  holiest  places  then  are  ours. 
His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers 

That  frown  upon  the  tyrant  foe; 
In  this,  the  dawn  of  Freedom's  day, 
There  is  a  time  to  fight  and  pray!  " 

And  now  before  the  open  door  — 

The  warrior  priest  had  ordered  so  — 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  roar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Its  long  reverberating  blow. 
So  loud  and  clear,  it  seemed  the  ear 
Of  dusty  death  must  wake  and  hear. 

And  there  the  startling  drum  and  fife 
Fired  the  living  with  fiercer  life; 
While  overheard,  with  wild  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  of  peace. 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before: 
It  seemed  as  it  would  never  cease; 
And  every  word  its  ardor  flung 
From  off  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was  "War!  War!  WAR!" 

**  Who  dares?  "  —  this  was  the  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came, — 


MISCELLANEOUS  501 

^*  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 
For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die  ?  " 
A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 
A  hundred  voices  answ^ered,  "  I !  '* 

—  Thomas  Buchanan  Read, 


WILLIAM  TELL  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS 

Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I  'm  with  you  once  again ! 

I  hold  to  you  the  hands  you  first  beheld, 

To  show  they  still  are  free.     Methinks  I  hear 

A  spirit  in  your  echoes  answer  me, 

And  bid  your  tenant  welcome  to  his  home 

Again !  O,  sacred  forms,  how  proud  ye  look ! 

How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky! 

How  huge  you  are !  how  mighty  and  how  free ! 

Ye  are  the  things  that  tower,  that  shine,  whose  smile 

Makes  glad,  whose  frown  is  terrible,  whose  forms. 

Robed  or  unrobed,  do  all  the  impress  wear 

Of  awe  divine.    Ye  guards  of  liberty! 

I  'm  with  you  once  again !  —  I  call  to  you 

With  all  my  voice !     I  hold  my  hands  to  you 

To  show  they  still  are  free.    I  rush  to  you, 

As  though  I  could  embrace  you ! 

Scaling  yonder  peak, 

I  saw  an  eagle  wheeling,  near  its  brow, 

O'er  the  abyss.     His  broad,  expanded  wings 

Lay  calm  and  motionless  upon  the  air. 

As  if  he  had  floated  there,  without  their  aid, 

By  the  sole  act  of  his  unlorded  will. 

That  buoyed  him  proudly  up !     Instinctively 

I  bent  my  bow;  yet  wheeled  he,  heeding  not 

The  death  that  threatened  him!     I  could  not  shoot! 

'T  was  liberty !    I  turned  my  bow  aside, 

And  let  him  soar  away. 

Once  Switzerland  was  free!     O,  with  what  pride 
I  used  to  walk  these  hills,  look  up  to  heaven. 
And  bless  God  that  it  was  so!    It  was  free! 
From  end  to  end,  from  cliff  to  lake,  't  was  free ! 


502  CHOICE  READINGS 

Free  as  our  torrents  are,  that  leap  our  rocks, 
And  plough  our  valleys  without  asking  leave; 
Or  as  our  peaks,  that  wear  their  caps  of  snow 
In  very  presence  of  the  regal  sun! 
How^  happy  was  I  in  it  then!     I  loved 
^Its  very  storms!    Ay,  often  have  I  sat 
In  my  boat,  at  night,  when  down  the  mountain  gorge 
The  wind  came  roaring  —  sat  in  it,  and  eyed 
The  thunder  breaking  from  his  cloud,  and  smiled 
To  see  him  shake  his  lightnings  o'er  my  head. 
And  think  I  had  no  master,  save  his  own ! 

You  know  the  jutting  cliff,  round  which  a  track 

Up  hither  winds,  whose  base  is  but  the  brow 

To  such  another  one,  with  scanty  room 

For  two  to  pass  abreast?    O'er  taken  there 

By  the  mountain-blast,  I  Ve  laid  me  flat  along; 

And  while  gust  followed  gust  more  furiously. 

As  if  't  would  sweep  me  o'er  the  horrid  brink, 

And  I  have  thought  of  other  lands,  whose  storms 

Are  summer-flaws  to  those  of  mine,  and  just 

Have  wished  me  there, —  the  thought  that  mine  was  free 

Has  checked  that  wish ;  and  I  have  raised  my  head, 

And  cried,  in  thraldom,  to  that  furious  wind, 

"  Blow  on !  —  This  is  the  land  of  liberty !  " 

—  Sheridan  Knowles. 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame. 
Quit,  oh !  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,   flying, — 
Oh,  the  pain  —  the  bliss  of  dying ! 
Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life! 

Hark!  they  whisper:  angels  say, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away !  " 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, — 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight. 
Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath?  — 
Tell  me,  my  soul!  can  this  be  death? 


MISCELLANEOUS  503 

The  world  recedes  —  it  disappears; 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes;  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring: 
Lend,  lend  your  wings!     I  mount,  I  flyl 
O  Grave!  where  is  thy  victory? 

O  Death!  where  is  thy  sting? 

—  Alexander  Pope* 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  ROSE 

It  is  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago 

Since  the  day  that  the  Count  De  Rochambeau, 

Our  ally,  against  the  British  crown, 

Met  Washington  in  Newport  town. 

'Twas  the  month  of  March,  and  the  air  was  rhill; 
But  bareheaded,  over  Aquidneck  Hill, 
Guest  and  host  they  took  their  way, 
While  on  either  side,  in  grand  display, 

A  gallant  army,  French  and  fine, 
Was  ranged  three  deep  in  glittering  line; 
And  the  French  fleet  sent  a  welcome  roar 
Of  a  hundred  guns  from  Conanicut  shore. 

And  the  bells  rang  out  from  every  steeple. 
And  from  street  to  street  the  Newport  people 
Followed  and  shouted  with  a  hearty  zest, 
De  Rochambeau  and  his  honored  guest. 

And  women  out  of  the  windows  leant, 
And  out  of  the  windows  smiled  and  sent 
Many  a  coy  and  admiring  glance 
To  the  fine  young  officers  of  PVance. 

And  the  story  goes  that  the  belle  of  the  town 
Kissed  a  rose  and  flung  it  down 
Straight  at  the  foot  of  De  Rochambeau ; 
And  the  gallant  Frenchman,  bending  low, 

Lifted  it  up  with  a  Frenchman's  grace, 
And  kissed  it  back  with  a  smile  at  the  face 
Of  the  daring  maiden  where  she  stood. 
Blushing  out  of  her  silken  hood. 


504  CHOICE  READINGS 

At  the  ball  that  night,  so  the  story  goes, 
The  Marshal  of  France  wore  a  faded  rose 
In  his  goldJ^ced  coat;  but  he  looked  in  vain 
For  the  over's  beautiful  face  again. 

N>ght  after  night,  and  day  after  day, 
She  was  speeding  farther  and  farther  away 
From  the  fatal  window,  the  fatal  street, 
Where  her  passionate  heart  had  suddenly  beat 

A  throb  too  much  for  the  cool  control 
A  Puritan  teaches  to  heart  and  soul; 
A  throb  too  much  for  the  wrathful  eyes 
Of  one  who  watched  in  dismayed  surprise 

From  the  street  below;  and,  taking  gauge 
Of  a  woman's  heart  in  a  moment's  rage. 
He  swore,  this  old  colonial  squire. 
That  before  the  daylight  should  expire 

This  daughter  of  his,  with  her  wit  and  grace, 
Her  dangerous  heart  and  her  beautiful  face, 
Should  be  on  her  way  to  a  safe  retreat, 
Where  no  rose  of  hers  could  fall  at  the  feet 

Of  a  cursed  Frenchman,  high  or  low: 
And  so,  while  the  Count  De  Rochambeau, 
On  his  gold-laced  coat  wore  a  faded  flower. 
And  awaited  the  giver,  hour  by  hour, 

She  was  sailing  away  in  the  wild  March  night, 
On  the  little  deck  of  the  sloop  Delight; 
Guarded,  even  in  darkness  there, 
By  the  watchful  eyes  of  a  jealous  care. 

Three  weeks  after,  a  brig  bore  down 
Into  the  harbor  of  Newport  town, 
Towing  a  wreck  —  't  was  the  sloop  Delight ! 
Off  Hampton  Rocks,  in  the  very  sight 

Of  the  land  she  sought,  she  and  her  crew, 
All  on  board  of  her,  full  in  view 
Of  the  storm-bound  fishermen  o'er  the  bay, 
Went  to  their  doom  on  that  April  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS  505 

When  Rochambeau  heard  the  terrible  tale 

He  muttered  a  prayer  —  for  a  moment  grew  pale  ; 

Then  '' Mon  Dieu!"  he  exclaimed;  *'  so  my  fine  romance, 

From  beginning  to  end,  is  a  rose  and  a  glance." 

A  rose  and  a  glance,  with  a  kiss  thrown  in  — 
That  was  all;  but  enough  for  a  promise  of  sin, 
Thought  the  stern  old  squire,  when  he  took  the  gauge 
Of  a  woman's  heart  in  a  moment's  rage. 

So  the  sad  old  story  comes  to  a  close ; 
'T  is  a  century  since ;  but  the  world  still  goes 
O'er  the  same  base  round,  still  takes  the  gauge 
Of  its  brightest  hearts  in  a  moment's  rage. 

—  Nora  Perry, 


\  THE  REVENGE 

At  Flores  in  the  Azores  Sir  Richard  Grenville  lay. 
And  a  pinnace,  like  a  flutter'd  bird,  came  flying  from  far  away: 
"  Spanish  ships  of  war  at  sea!  we  have  sighted  fifty-three!  " 
Then   sware   Lord   Thomas   Howard:    "'Fore   God,    I    am   no 

coward ; 
But  I  cannot  meet  them  here,  for  my  ships  are  out  of  gear, 
And  the  half  my  men  are  sick.     I  must  fly,  but  follow  quick. 
We  are  six  ships  of  the  line;  can  we  fight  with  fifty-three?  " 

Then  spake  Sir  Richard  Grenville:  "  I  know  you  are  no  coward; 

You  fly  them  for  a  moment  to  fight  with  them  again. 

But  I  've  ninety  men  and  more  that  are  lying  sick  ashore. 

I    should    count   myself    the   coward    if    I    left   them,    my   Lord 

Howard, 
To  these  Inquisition  dogs  and  the  devildoms  of  Spain." 

So  Lord  Howard  past  away  with  five  ships  of  war  that  day, 

Till  he  melted  like  a  cloud  in  the  silent  summer  heaven ; 

But  Sir  Richard  bore  in  hand  all  his  sick  men  from  the  land 

Very  carefully  and  slow% 

Men  of  Bideford  in  Devon, 

And  we  laid  them  on  the  ballast  down  below; 

For  we  brought  them  all  aboard. 

And  they  blest  him  in  their  pain,  that  they  were  not  left  to  Spain, 

To  the  thumbscrew  and  the  stake,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 


506  CHOICE  READINGS 

He  had  only  a  hundred  seamen  to  work  the  ship  and  to  fight, 

And  he  sailed  away  from  Flores  till  the  Spaniard  came  in  sight. 

With  his  huge  sea-castles  heaving  upon  the  weather  bow. 

"  Shall  we  fight,  or  shall  we  fly  ? 

Good  Sir  Richard,  tell  us  now, 

For  to  fight  is  but  to  die! 

There  '11  be  little  of  us  left  by  the  time  this  sun  be  set." 

And  Sir  Richard  said  again:    "We  be  all  good  English  men. 

Let  us  bang  these  dogs  of  Seville,  the  children  of  the  devil, 

For  I  never  turn'd  my  back  upon  Don  or  devil  yet." 

Sir  Richard  spoke  and  he  laugh'd,  and  we  roar'd  a  hurrah,  and  so 
The  little  Revenge  ran  on  sheer  into  the  heart  of  the  foe, 
With  her  hundred  fighters  on  deck,  and  her  ninety  sick  below; 
For  half  of  their  fleet  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left  were  seen. 
And  the  little  Revenge  ran  on  thro'  the  long  sea-lane  between. 

Thousands  of  their  soldiers  look'd  down  from  their  decks  and 

laugh'd. 
Thousands  of  their  seamen  made  mock  at  the  mad  little  craft 
Running  on  and  on,  till  delay'd 

By  their  mountain-like  San  Philip  that,  of  fifteen  hundred  tons, 
And  up-shadowing  high  above  us  with  her  yawning  tiers  of  guns. 
Took  the  breath  from  our  sails,  and  we  stay'd. 

And  while  now  the  great  San  Philip  hung  above  us  like  a  cloud 

Whence  the  thunderbolt  will  fall 

Long  and  loud. 

Four  galleons  drew  away 

From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day. 

And  two  upon  the  larboard  and  two  upon  the  starboard  lay, 

And  the  battle-thunder  broke  from  them  all. 

But  anon  the  great  San  Philip,  she  bethought  herself  and  went, 
Having  that  within  her  womb  that  had  left  her  ill-content; 
And  the  rest  they  came  aboard  us,  and  they  fought  us  hand  to 

hand. 
For  a  dozen  times  they  came  with  their  pikes  and  musqueteers, 
And  a  dozen  times  we  shook  'em  off  as  a  dog  that  shakes  his  ears 
[When  he  leaps  from  the  water  to  the  land. 


MISCELLANEOUS  507 

And  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over  the  sum- 
mer sea, 

But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the  fifty- 
three. 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built  galleons 
came, 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  with  her  battle-thunder 
and  flame; 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  drew  back  with  her  dead 
and  her  shame. 

For  some  were  sunk  and  many  were  shattered,  and  so  could  fight 
us  no  more  — 

God  of  battles,  was  ever  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world  before? 

For  he  said,  "  Fight  on!  fight  on! '' 
Tho'  his  vessel  was  all  but  a  wreck; 
And  it  chanced  that,  when  half  of  the  short  summer  night  was 

gone. 
With  a  grisly  wound  to  be  drest  he  had  left  the  deck. 
But  a  bullet  struck  him  that  was  dressing  it  suddenly  dead. 
And  himself  he  was  wounded  again  in  the  side  and  the  head 
And  he  said,  ''  Fight  on!  fight  on!  " 

And  the  night  went  down,  and  the  sun  smiled  out  far  over  the 

summer  sea, 
And  the  Spanish  fleet  with  broken  sides  lay  round  us  all  in  a 

ring; 
But  they  dared  not  touch  us  again,  for  they  feared  that  we  still 

could  sting, 
So  they  watch'd  what  the  end  would  be. 
And  we  had  not  fought  them  in  vain, 
But  in  perilous  plight  were  we, 
Seeing  forty  of  our  poor  hundred  were  slain, 
And  half  of  the  rest  of  us  maim*d  for  life 
In  the  crash  of  the  cannonades  and  the  desperate  strife ; 
And  the  sick  men  down  in  the  hold  were  most  of  them  stark  and 

cold. 
And  the  pikes  were  all  broken  or  bent,  and  the  powder  was  all  oi 

It  spent; 
And  the  masts  and  the  rigging  were  lying  over  the  side; 
But  Sir  Richard  cried  in  his  English  pride, 


508  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  We  have  fought  such  a  fight  for  a  day  and  a  night 

As  may  never  be  fought  again ! 

We  have  won  great  glory,  my  men! 

And  a  day  less  or  more 

At  sea  or  ashore, 

We  die  —  does  it  matter  v^hen  ? 

Sink  me  the  ship,  Master  Gunner  —  sink  her,  split  her  in  twain  t 

Fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  not  into  the  hands  of  Spain !  " 

And  the  gunner  said,  '*  Ay,  ay,"  but  the  seamen  made  reply: 

"  We  have  children,  we  have  wives. 

And  the  Lord  hath  spared  our  lives. 

We  will  make  the  Spaniard  promise,  if  we  yield,  to  let  us  go; 

We  shall  live  to  fight  again,  and  to  strike  another  blow." 

And  the  lion  there  lay  dying,  and  they  yielded  to  the  foe. 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flagship  bore  him  then. 

Where  they  laid  him  by  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard  caught  at  last^ 

And  they  praised  him  to  his  face  with  their  courtly  foreign  grace ; 

But  he  rose  upon  their  decks,  and  he  cried : 

"  I  have  fought  for  Queen  and  Faith  like  a  valiant  man  and  true ; 

I  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do: 

With  a  joyful  spirit  I  Sir  Richard  Grenville  die!  " 

And  he  fell  upon  their  decks,  and  he  died. 

And  they  stared  at  the  dead  that  had  been  so  valiant  and  true, 
And  had  holden  the  power  and  glory  of  Spain  so  cheap 
That  he  dared  her  with  one  little  ship  and  his  English  few; 
Was  he  devil  or  man?    He  was  devil  for  aught  they  knew. 
But  they  sank  his  body  with  honor  down  into  the  deep. 
And  they  mann'd  the  Revenge  with  a  swarthier  alien  crew, 
And  away  she  sail'd  with  her  loss  and  long'd  for  her  own ; 
When  a  wind  from  the  lands  they  had  ruin'd  awoke  from  sleep. 
And  the  water  began  to  heave  and  the  weather  to  moan, 
And  or  ever  that  evening  ended  a  great  gale  blew. 
And  a  wave  like  the  wave  that  is  raised  by  an  earthquake  grew, 
Till  it  smote  on  their  hulls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts  and 

their  flags. 
And  the  whole  sea  plunged  and  fell  on  the  shot-shatter'd  navy  of 

Spain, 
And  the  little  Revenge  herself  went  down  by  the  island  crags 
To  be  lost  evermore  in  the  main.  — Lord  Tennyson. 


MISCELLANEOUS  509 

THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM 

*T  was  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 

And  evening  calm  and  cool, 
And  four-and-twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  of  school; 
There  were  some  that  ran,  and  some  that  leapt 

Like  troutlets  in  a  pool. 

Away  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds 

And  souls  untouched  by  sin; 
To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 

They  drave  the  wickets  in; 
Pleasantly  shone  the  setting  sun 

Over  the  town  of  Lynn.  - 

Like  sportive  deer  they  coursed  about, 

And  shouted  as  they  ran, 
Turning  to  mirth  all  things  of  earth 

As  only  boyhood  can; 
But  the  usher  sat  remote  from  all, 

A  melancholy  man ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart, 

To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze; 
For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow, 

And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease. 
So  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  read 

The  book  between  his  knees. 

Leaf  after  leaf  he  turned  it  o'er, 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside, — 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that  book 

In  the  golden  eventide; 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean. 

And  pale,  and  leaden-eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome; 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strained  the  dusky  covers  close. 

And  fixed  the  brazen  hasp: 
"  O  God !  could  I  so  close  my  mind^ 

And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp ! '' 


510  CHOICE  READINGS 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright, 
Some  moody  turns  he  took, — 

Now  up  the  mead,  then  down  the  mead. 
And  past  a  shady  nook, — 

And,  lo!  he  saw  a  little  boy 
That  pored  upon  a  book. 

"My  gentle  lad,  what  is  't  you  read, — 

Romance  or  fairy  fable? 
Or  is  it  some  historic  page. 

Of  kings  and  crowns  unstable  ?  " 
The  young  boy  gave  an  upward  glance,— 

"  It  is  '  The  Death  of  Abel/  '' 

The  usher  took  six  hasty  strides, 
As  smit  with  sudden  pain, — 

Six  hasty  strides  beyond  the  place. 
Then  slowly  back  again; 

And  down  he  sat  beside  the  lad, 
And  talked  to  him  of  Cain; 

And,  long  since  then,  of  bloody  men, 
Whose  deeds  tradition  saves; 

Of  lonely  folk  cut  off  unseen. 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves; 

Of  horrid  stabs,  in  groves  forlorn. 
And  murders  done  in  caves; 

And  how  the  sprites  of  injured  men 
Shriek  upward  from  the  sod, — 

Ay,  how  the  ghostly  hand  will  point 
To  show  the  burial  clod; 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God ! 

He  told  how  murderers  walked  the  earth, 
Beneath  the  curse  of  Cain, — 

With  crimson  clouds  before  their  eyes, 
And  flames  about  their  brain; 

For  blood  has  left  upon  their  souls 
Its  everlasting  stain. 


MISCELLANEOUS  51X 

"  And  well/'  quoth  he,  "  I  know  for  trutK, 

Their  pangs  must  be  extreme, — 
Woe,  woe,  unutterable  woe, — 

Who  spill  life's  sacred  stream! 
For  why  ?  Methought,  last  night,  I  wrought 

A  murder,  in  a  dream! 

"  One  that  had  never  done  me  wrong  — 

A  feeble  man  and  old; 
I  led  him  to  a  lonely  field, — 

The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold: 
Now  here,  said  I,  this  man  shall  die, 

And  I  will  have  his  gold! 

"  Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 

And  one  with  a  heavy  stone. 
One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife, — 

And  then  the  deed  was  done: 
There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  foot 

But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone! 

*'  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone, 

That  could  not  do  me  ill; 
And  yet  I  feared  him  all  the  more. 

For  lying  there  so  still: 
There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look, 

That  murder  could  not  kill! 

"  And  lo !  the  universal  air 

Seemed  lit  with  ghastly  flame, — 
Ten  thousand,  thousand  dreadful  eyes 

Were  looking  down  in  blame; 
I  took  the  dead  man  by  his  hand. 

And  called  upon  his  name. 

*'  O  God !  it  made  me  quake  to  see 

Such  sense  within  the  slain; 
But,  when  I  touched  the  lifeless  clay, 

The  blood  gushed  out  amain! 
For  every  clot  a  burning  spot 

Was  scorching  in  my  brain! 


512  CHOICE  READINGS 

'*  My  head  was  like  an  ardent  coal, 

My  heart  as  solid  ice; 
My  wretched,  wretched  soul,  I  knew, 

Was  at  the  Devil's  price. 
A  dozen  times  I  groaned, —  the  dead 

Had  never  groaned  but  twice. 

"  And  now,  from  forth  the  frowning  sky, 
From  the  heaven's  topmost  height, 

I  heard  a  voice, —  the  awful  voice 
Of  the  blood-avenging  sprite: 

*  Thou  guilty  man !  take  up  thy  dead. 
And  hide  it  from  my  sight ! ' 

''  And  I  took  the  dreary  body  up, 

And  cast  it  in  a  stream, — 
The  sluggish  water  bla<:k  as  ink. 

The  depth  was  so  extreme; 
My  gentle  boy,  remember,  this 

Is  nothing  but  a  dream! 

"Down  went  the  corse  with  a  hollow  plunge. 

And  it  vanished  in  the  pool; 
Anon  I  cleansed  my  bloody  hands. 

And  washed  my  forehead  cool. 
And  sat  among  the  urchins  young, 

That  evening,  in  the  school. 

"  O  Heaven !  to  think  of  their  white  souls, 
And  mine  so  black  and  grim! 

I  could  not  share  in  childish  prayer, 
Nor  join  in  evening  hymn; 

Like  a  devil  of  the  pit  I  seemed, 
'Mid  holy  cherubim! 

**  And  peace  went  with  them,  one  and  all, 
And  each  calm  pillow  spread; 

But  Guilt  was  my  grim  Chamberlain 
That  lighted  me  to  bed; 

And  drew  my  midnight  curtains  round. 
With  fingers  bloody  red! 


MISCELLANEOUS  513 

"All  night  I  lay  in  agony, 

In  anguish  dark  and  deep; 
My  fevered  eyes  I  dare  not  close, 

But  stared  aghast  at  Sleep: 
For  Sin  had  rendered  unto  her 

The  keys  of  Hell  to  keep! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony, 

From  weary  chime  to  chime, 
With   one   besetting,   horrid   hint. 

That  racked  me  all  the  time; 
A  mighty  yearning,  like  the  first 

Fierce  impulse  unto  crime! 

"  One  stern  tyrannic  thought,  that  made 

All  other  thoughts  its  slave; 
Stronger  and  stronger  every  pulse 

Did  that  temptation  crave, — 
Still  urging  me  to  go  and  see 

The  dead  man  in  his  grave! 

"  Heavily  I  rose  up,  as  soon 

As  light  was  in  the  sky. 
And  sought  the  black,  accursed  pool 

With  a  wild  misgiving  eye; 
And  I  saw  the  Dead  in  the  river  bed. 

For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry. 

"  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 

The  dewdrop  from  its  wing; 
But  I  never  marked  its  morning  flight, 

I  never  heard  it  sing: 
For  I  was  stooping  once  again 

Under  the  horrid  thing. 

"  With  breathless  speed,  like  a  soul  in  chase, 

I  took  him  up  and  ran;  — 
There  was  no  time  to  dig  a  grave 

Before  the  day  began: 
In  a  lonesome  wood,  with  heaps  of  leaves, 

I  hid  the  murdered  man! 


a*  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  And  all  that  day  I  read  in  school, 

But  my  thought  was  other  where; 
As  soon  as  the  midday  task  was  done, 

In  secret  I  was  there: 
And  a  mighty  wind  had  swept  the  leaves, 

And  still  the  corse  was  bare ! 

"Then  down  I  cast  me  on  my  face. 

And  first  began  to  weep, 
For  I  knew  my  secret  then  was  one 

That  earth  refused   to  keep: 
Or  land  or  sea,  though  he  should  be 

Ten  thousand  fathoms  deep. 

"  So  wills  the  fierce  avenging  Sprite, 

Till  blood  for  blood  atones! 
Ay,  though  he  's  buried  in  a  cave. 

And  trodden  down  with  stones. 
And  years  have  rotted  off  his  flesh, — 

The  world  shall  see  his  bones! 

"  Oh,  God !  that  horrid,  horrid  dream 

Besets  me  now  awake! 
Again  —  again,  with  dizzy  brain, 

The  human  life  I  take; 
And  my  right  red  hand  grows  raging  hot, 

Like  Cranmer's  at  the  stake. 

"  And  still  no  peace  for  the  restless  clay. 

Will  wave  or  mold  allow; 
The  horrid  thing  pursues  my  soul, — 

It  stands  before  me  now !  *' 
The  fearful  boy  looked  up  and  saw 

Huge  drops  upon  his  brow. 

That  very  night,  while  gentle  sleep 

The  urchin  eyelids  kissed, 
Two  stern  faced  men  set  out  from  Lynn, 

Through  the  cold  and  heavy  mist; 
And  Eugene  Aram  walked  between. 

With  gyves  upon  his  wrist. 

—  Thomas  Hood. 


MISCELLANEOUS  515 


JEAN  VALJEAN 

Jean  Valjean  was  an  escaped  convict.  In  his  youth  he  had  stolen  a  loaf 
•f  bread  for  his  sister's  starving  children,  for  which  crime  he  had  spent  nine- 
teen years  as  a  galley  slave. 

Through  the  influence  of  a  Bishop,  the  only  man  who  had  ever  been 
kind  to  him,  Jean  Valjean  had  taken  a  new  departure  in  life.  He  went  to 
a  town  where  he  was  not  known,  worked  hard,  and  soon  became  a  rich  man 
at  the  head  of  a  great  factory.  He  became  so  well  known  and  so  dearly 
beloved  for  his  many  deeds  of  kindness  that  he  was  unanimously  elected 
Mayor  of  the  city. 

He  had  held  this  position  for  about  five  years,  having  assumed  the  name 
of  Monsieur  Madeleine,  when  he  learned  that  in  a  neighboring  town  an  old 
man  was  to  be  tried  for  stealing,  and  that  this  man  was  strongly  suspected 
of  being  the  long-lost  Jean  Valjean,  in  which  case  the  punishment  would  be 
the  galleys  for  life.  The  real  Jean  Valjean  would  have  to  reach  Arras  the 
next  day  in  order  to  prevent  an  innocent  man  from  being  convicted.  He 
passed  the  night  in  awful  conflict  with  himself.     .     .     . 

He  examined  the  situation  and  found  it  an  unheard  of  one, 
so  unheard  of  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  reverie,  by  some  strange 
impulse  of  almost  inexplicable  anxiety,  he  rose  from  his  chair  and 
bolted  his  door.  He  feared  lest  something  might  yet  enter.  A 
moment  after  he  blew  out  his  light.  It  annoyed  him.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  somebody  could  see  him.  Somebody?  Who?  Alas!  what 
he  wanted  to  keep  out  of  doors  had  entered;  what  he  wanted  to 
render  blind  was  looking  upon  him  —  his  conscience. 

"Well,  what  am  I  afraid  of?  Why  do  I  ponder  over  these 
things?  Have  I  the  right  to  disarrange  what  Providence 
arranges?  No,  let  the  matter  alone!  let  us  not  interfere  with 
God." 

But  the  current  of  his  thoughts  had  not  changed.  He  still 
saw  his  duty,  written  in  luminous  letters  which  flared  out  before 
his  eyes.    "Go!   Avow  the  name!    Denounce  thj^self." 

Denounce  himself!  Great  God!  Give  himself  up!  He  saw 
with  infinite  despair  all  that  he  must  leave,  all  that  he  must  resume. 
He  must  then  bid  farewell  to  this  existence,  so  good,  so  pure,  so 
radiant,  to  this  respect  of  all,  to  honor,  to  liberty!  No  more  would 
he  go  out  in  the  fields ;  never  again  would  he  hear  the  birds  singing 
in  the  month  of  May;  never  more  give  alms  to  the  little  children j 
no  longer  would  he  feel  the  sweetness  of  gratitude  and  love; 
instead  of  that,  the  galley  crew,  the  iron  collar,  the  red  blouse,  the 
chain  at  his  foot,  fatigue,  the  dungeon,  the  plank-bed,  all  these  hor- 


616  CHOICE  READINGS 

rors  which  he  knew  so  well !  At  his  age,  after  being  what  he  was ! 
If  he  were  still  young!  But  so  old,  to  be  tumbled  about  by  the 
prison  guard,  to  be  struck  by  the  jailer's  stick,  to  endure  the  curi- 
osity of  strangers,  who  would  be  told,  "  This  one  is  the  famous 
Jean  Valjean,  who  was  Mayor  of  M m!!'' 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door  of  his  room.  He 
shuddered  from  head  to  foot. 

"Who  is  there?" 

"  I,  Monsieur  Mayor." 

He  recognized  the  voice  of  the  old  woman,  his  portress. 

"  The  driver  says  he  has  come  for  Monsieur,  the  Mayor." 

There  w^as  a  long  silence.  He  examined  the  flame  of  the  candle 
with  a  stupid  air,  took  some  of  the  melted  wax  from  around  the 
wick  and  rolled  it  in  his  fingers.  The  old  woman  ventured  to 
speak  again. 

"  Monsieur  Mayor,  what  shall  I  say?  " 

"  Say  that  it  is  right,  and  that  I  am  coming  down." 

It  was  broad  day  when  he  arrived  at  Herdin.  He  stopped 
before  an  inn  to  let  his  horse  breathe  and  to  give  him  some  oats. 
The  stable-boy  stooped  down  suddenly  and  examined  the  left 
wheel,  then  asked : 

"  Have  you  come  far  ?  " 

"  Five  leagues  from  here." 

"  It  is  a  miracle  that  you  have  come  five  leagues  without 
tumbling  you  and  your  horse  into  some  ditch  on  the  way.  Look 
for  yourself." 

The  wheel,  in  fact,  was  badly  damaged.  The  wheelwright 
came  and  examined  it. 

"  Can  you  mend  that  wheel  on  the  spot?  I  must  leave  in  an 
liour  at  the  latest." 

"  Impossible  to-day !  There  are  two  spokes  and  a  hub  to  be 
repaired.    Monsieur  cannot  start  again  before  to-morrow." 

"  My  business  cannot  wait  until  to-morrow.  Instead  of  mend- 
ing this  wheel,  cannot  it  be  replaced  ?  " 

"  It 's  of  no  use,  Monsieur.  I  have  nothing  but  cart  wheels 
to  sell.   We  are  a  small  place  here." 

"  But  I  can  surely  find  in  the  village  a  horse  to  let?  " 

"  It  would  take  a  better  horse  than  there  is  in  these  parts  to 
reach  Arras  before  to-morrow." 


MISCELLANEOUS  517 

**  Is  there  no  livery  stable  in  the  village?  '* 

He  felt  an  immense  joy.  It  was  evident  that  Providence  was 
in  the  matter.  It  was  Providence  that  had  broken  the  wheel  of  the 
tilbury,  and  stopped  him  on  his  way.  He  had  not  yielded  to  the 
first  summons;  he  had  made  all  possible  effort  to  continue  his 
journey;  he  had  faithfully  and  scrupulously  exhausted  every 
means. 

"  Monsieur/'  said  a  woman  standing  near,  "  my  boy  tells  me 
that  you  are  anxious  to  hire  a  carriage?"  This  simple  speech, 
made  by  a  poor  woman,  made  him  cold.  He  thought  he  saw  the 
hand  he  was  but  now  freed  from  reappear  in  the  shadow  behind 
him,  all  ready  to  seize  him  again. 

"  Yes,  good  woman,  I  am  looking  for  a  carriage  to  hire,  but 
there  is  none  in  the  place." 

"  Yes,  there  is."  He  shuddered.  The  fatal  hand  had  closed 
on  him  again.  The  poor  woman  had,  in  fact,  under  a  shed,  a  sort 
of  willow  cariole.  It  was  a  frightful  go-cart ;  it  had  no  springs,  but 
it  went  upon  two  wheels,  and  could  go  to  Arras.  He  paid  what 
was  asked,  and  resumed  the  route  he  had  followed  since  morning. 
It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  the  cariole  drove 
into  the  yard  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste  at  Arras.  He  was  not 
acquainted  with  the  city ;  the  streets  were  dark,  and  he  went 
haphazard.     A  citizen  came  along  with  a  lantern. 

"Monsieur,  the  courthouse,  if  you  please?" 

"  If  Monsieur  wishes  to  see  a  trial  he  is  rather  late.  Ordinarily, 
the  sessions  close  at  six  o'clock."  However,  when  they  reached  the 
great  square,  the  citizen  showed  him  four  long,  lighted  windows 
on  the  front  of  a  vast  dark  building. 

"  Faith,  Monsieur,  you  are  in  time,  you  are  fortunate." 

Suddenly,  without  knowing  how,  he  found  himself  near  the 
door ;  he  seized  the  knob  convulsively ;  the  door  opened ;  he  was  in 
the  courtroom. 

It  was  a  large  hall,  dimly  lighted,  and  noisy  and  silent  by 
turns,  where  all  the  machinery  of  a  criminal  trial  was  exhibited 
with  its  petty,  yet  solemn  gravity. 

No  man  in  this  multitude  paid  any  attention  to  him.  All  eyes 
converged  on  a  single  point,  a  wooden  bench  placed  along  the  wall 
at  the  left  hand  of  the  judge. 

Upon  this  bench,  which  was  lighted  by  several  candles,  was  a 


618  CHOICE  READINGS 

man  between  two  officers.  This  was  the  man.  He  did  not  look  for 
him,  he  saw  him.  His  eyes  went  towards  him  naturally,  as  if  they 
had  known  in  advance  where  he  was. 

Judges,  clerks,  a  throng  of  heads  cruelly  curious  —  he  had  seen 
all  these  once  before,  twenty-seven  years  ago.  He  had  fallen  again 
upon  these  fearful  things;  they  were  before  him;  they  moved, 
they  had  being ;  it  was  no  longer  an  effort  of  his  memory,  a  mirage 
of  his  fancy ;  he  saw  reappearing  and  living  again  around  him,  with 
all  the  frightfulness  of  reality,  the  monstrous  visions  of  the  past. 
All  this  was  yawning  before  him.  Stricken  with  horror  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  exclaimed  from  the  depths  of  his  soul,  *'  Never!  " 

The  judge  gave  an  order,  and  a  moment  afterwards  a  door 
opened  and  an  officer  led  in  the  first  witness,  the  convict  Brevet. 

''  Brevet,  look  well  upon  the  prisoner,  collect  your  remem- 
brance, and  say  on  your  soul  and  conscience  whether  you  still  recog- 
nize this  man  as  your  former  friend  in  the  galleys,  Jean  Valjean." 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  I  was  the  first  to  recognize  him,  and  still 
do  so.  This  man  is  Jean  Valjean,  who  came  to  Toulon  in  1796 
and  left  in  18 15.    I  recognize  him  now  positively." 

Another  witness  was  brought  in,  a  convict  for  life,  as  was 
shown  by  his  red  cloak  and  green  cap. 

The  judge  addressed  nearly  the  same  words  to  him  as  to  Brevet. 

"  Gad,  do  I  recognize  him?  We  were  {ive  years  on  the  same 
chain." 

An  officer  brought  in  Cochepaille,  another  convict  for  life. 
His  testimony  was:  *'  It  is  Jean  Valjean,  the  same  they  called  Jean 
the  Jack,  he  was  so  strong." 

A  buzz  ran  through  the  crowd  and  almost  invaded  the  jury. 
It  was  evident  that  the  man  was  lost. 

"  Officers,"  said  the  judge,  "  enforce  order;  I  am  about  to  sum 
up  the  case." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  movement  near  the  judge. 
Monsieur  Madeleine,  who  had  been  sitting  among  the  privileged 
spectators  behind  the  court,  had  risen,  pushed  open  the  low  door 
which  separated  the  tribunal  from  the  bar,  and  was  standing  in  the 
center  of  the  hall.  All  eyes  were  strained  towards  him  as  he 
exclaimed,  *'  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  release  the  accused.  Your 
honor,  order  my  arrest.  He  is  not  the  man  whom  you  seek ;  it  is  I ! 
I  am  Jean  Valjean!  " 

—  Victor  Hugo, 


MISCELLANEOUS  519 

THE  BOY  ORATOR  OF  ZEPATA  CITY 

It  seemed  a  particularly  happy  and  appropriate  circumstance 
that  the  first  business  in  the  new  courtroom  should  be,  of  itseli\ 
of  an  important  and  momentous  nature,  something  that  dealt  not 
only  with  the  present,  but  with  the  past  of  Zepata. 

Abe  Barrow  had  been  closely  associated  with  the  early  history 
of  Zepata;  he  had  killed  in  his  day  several  of  the  Zepata  citizens, 
and  two  visiting  brother-desperadoes,  and  the  corner  where  his 
gambling-house  had  stood  was  still  known  as  Barrow's  Corner. 
Ten  years  before,  the  murder  of  Deputy-Sheriff  Welsh  had  led 
him  to  the  penitentiary,  and  a  month  previous  to  the  opening  of 
the  new  courthouse  he  had  been  freed,  and  arrested  at  the  prison 
gate  to  stand  trial  for  the  murder  of  Hubert  Thompson.  The 
fight  with  Thompson  had  been  a  fair  fight  —  as  those  said  who 
remembered  it  —  and  Thompson  was  a  man  they  could  well  spare ; 
but  the  case  against  Barrow  had  been  prepared  during  his  incarcer- 
ation by  the  new  and  youthful  district  attorney,  "  Judge  "  Henry 
Harvey,  and  as  it  offered  a  fitting  sacrifice  for  the  dedication  of 
the  new  temple  of  justice,  the  people  were  satisfied  and  grateful. 

Barrow's  wife,  a  thin,  yellow-faced  woman  in  a  mean-fitting, 
showy  gown,  sat  at  the  district  attorney's  elbow.  She  was  the  only 
woman  in  the  roorfi. 

Harry  Harvey,  "  The  Boy  Orator  of  Zepata  City,"  as  he  was 
called,  turned  slowly  on  his  heels,  and  swept  the  courtroom  care- 
lessly with  a  glance  of  his  clever  black  eyes.  The  moment  was  his. 
He  saw  all  the  men  he  knew  —  the  men  who  made  his  little  world 
—  crowding  silently  forward,  forgetful  of  the  heat,  of  the  suffo- 
cating crush  of  those  about  them,  of  the  wind  that  rattled  the 
doors  in  the  corridors,  and  conscious  only  of  him. 

"  This  man,"  he  said,  and  as  he  spoke  even  the  wind  in  the 
corridors  hushed  for  a  moment,  "is  no  part  or  parcel  of  Zepata 
City  of  to-day.  He  comes  to  us  as  a  relic  of  the  past,  a  past  that 
was  full  of  hardships  and  glorious  efforts  in  the  face  of  daily  disap- 
pointments, embitterments,  and  rebuffs.  But  the  part  this  man 
played  in  that  past,  lives  only  in  the  rude  court-records  of  that  day, 
in  the  traditions  of  the  gambling-hell  and  the  saloons,  and  on  the 
headstones  of  his  victims.  Gentlemen,  the  *  bad  man  '  has  become 
an  unknown  quantity  in  Zepata  City.  It  lies  with  you  to  see  that 
he  remains  so.   This  man,  Abe  Barrow,  has  enjoyed  a  reputation 


520  CHOICE  READINGS 

as  a  *  bad  man/  a  desperate  and  brutal  ruffian.  Free  him  to-day, 
and  you  set  a  premium  on  such  reputations.  Acquit  him  of  this 
crime,  and  you  encourage  others  to  like  evil.  Let  him  go,  and  he 
will  walk  the  streets  with  a  swagger,  and  boast  that  you  were 
afraid  to  touch  him  —  afraid,  gentlemen  —  and  children  and 
women  will  point  after  him  as  the  man  who  has  sent  nine  others 
into  eternity,  and  who  yet  walks  the  street  a  free  man. 

"  For  the  last  ten  years,  your  honor,  this  man,  Abner  Barrow, 
has  been  serving  a  term  of  imprisonment  in  the  state  penitentiary; 
I  ask  you  to  send  him  back  there  again  for  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  Abe  Barrow  is  out  of  date.  He  has  missed  step  with  the  march 
of  progress,  and  has  been  out  of  step  for  ten  years.  It  cannot  be 
said  of  us  that  we  have  sat  idle  in  the  market-place.  We  have 
advanced  and  advanced  in  the  last  ten  years,  until  we  have  reached 
the  very  foremost  place  with  civilized  people.  This  Rip  Van 
Winkle  of  the  past  returns  to  find  a  city  where  he  left  a  prairie 
town;  a  bank  where  he  spun  his  roulette-wheel;  this  magnificent 
courthouse  instead  of  a  vigilance  committee!  He  is  there,  in  the 
prisoner's  pen,  a  convicted  murderer  and  an  unconvicted  assassin, 
the  last  of  his  race  —  the  bullies  and  bad  men  of  the  border  —  a 
thing  to  be  forgotten  and  put  away  forever  from  the  sight  of  men. 
And  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  put  him  away  where  he  will  not  hear 
the  voice  of  man  nor  children's  laughter,  nor  see  a  woman's  smile ; 
where  he  will  not  even  see  the  face  of  the  warden  who  feeds  him, 
nor  sunlight  except  as  it  is  filtered  through  the  iron  bars  of  a  jail. 
Bury  him  with  the  bitter  past,  with  the  lawlessness  that  has  gone 
—  that  has  gone,  thank  God !  —  and  which  must  not  return." 

The  district  attorney  sat  down  suddenly,  and  was  conscious  of 
nothing  until  the  foreman  pronounced  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
guilty  of  murder  in  the  second  degree. 

Judge  Traux  leaned  across  his  desk  and  said,  simply,  that  it 
lay  in  his  power  to  sentence  the  prisoner  to  not  less  than  two  years 
confinement  in  the  state  penitentiary,  or  for  the  remainder  of  his 
life. 

"  Before  I  deliver  sentence  on  you,  Abner  Barrow,"  he  said, 
with  an  old  man's  kind  severity,  "  is  there  anything  you  have  to 
say  on  your  own  behalf  ?  " 

The  district  attorney  turned  his  face,  as  did  all  the  others,  but 
he  did  not  see  the  prisoner  —  he  still  saw  himself  holding  the  court- 
room with  a  spell,  and  heard  his  own  periods  ringing  against  the 


MISCELLANEOUS  521 

whitewashed  ceiling.  The  others  saw  a  broad-shouldered  man  lean- 
ing heavily  forward  over  the  bar  of  the  prisoner's  box.  His  face 
was  white  with  the  prison  tan,  markedly  so  in  contrast  with  those 
sunburnt  by  the  wind  and  sun  turned  towards  him,  and  pinched 
and  hollow-eyed  and  worn.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  had  the 
huskiness  which  comes  from  non-use,  and  cracked  and  broke  like 
a  child's. 

"  I  do  n't  know,  Judge,  that  I  have  anything  to  say  in  my 
own  behalf.  I  guess  what  the  gentleman  said  about  me  is  all  there  is 
to  say.  I  am  3,  back  number,  I  am  out  of  date ;  I  was  a  loafer  and 
a  blackguard.  He  told  you  I  had  no  part  or  parcel  in  this  city, 
or  in  this  world ;  that  I  belonged  to  the  past ;  that  I  ought  to  be 
dead.  Now  that 's  not  so.  I  have  just  one  thing  that  belongs  to  this 
city,  and  to  this  world  —  and  to  me ;  one  thing  that  I  could  n't 
take  to  jail  with  me,  and  that  I  '11  have  to  leave  behind  me  when 
I  go  back  to  it.  I  mean  my  wife.  You,  sir,  remember  her,  sir, 
when  I  married  her  twelve  years  ago.  She  was  Henry  Holman's 
daughter.  I  took  her  from  the  home  she  had  with  her  father 
against  that  gentleman's  wishes,  sir,  to  live  with  me  over  my  dance- 
hall.  You  may  remember  her  as  she  was  then.  She  gave  up  every- 
thing a  woman  ought  to  have,  to  come  to  me.  She  thought  she  was 
going  to  be  happy  with  me ;  that 's  why  she  come,  I  guess.  Maybe 
she  was  happy  for  about  two  weeks.  After  that  first  two  weeks  her 
life,  sir,  was  a  hell,  and  I  made  it  a  hell.  Respectable  women 
would  n't  speak  to  her  because  she  was  my  wife ;  even  them  that 
were  friends  of  hers  when  she  lived  on  the  ranch,  would  n't  speak 
to  her  because  she  was  my  wife  —  and  she  had  no  children.  That 
was  her  life.  She  lived  alone  over  the  dance-hall,  and  sometimes 
when  I  was  drunk  —  I  beat  her. 

**  At  the  end  of  two  years  I  killed  Welsh,  and  they  sent  me 
to  the  penitentiary  for  ten  years,  and  she  was  free.  She  could  have 
gone  back  to  her  folks  and  got  a  divorce  if  she  'd  wanted  to,  and 
never  seen  me  again.  It  was  an  escape  most  women  'd  gone  down 
on  their  knees  and  thanked  their  Maker  for. 

"  But  what  did  this  woman  do  —  my  wife,  the  woman  I  mis- 
used and  beat  and  dragged  down  in  the  mud  with  me  ?  She  was  too 
mighty  proud  to  go  back  to  her  people,  or  to  the  friends  who  shook 
her  when  she  was  in  trouble ;  and  she  sold  out  the  place  and  bought 
a  ranch  with  the  money,  and  worked  it  by  herself,  worked  It  day 


522  CHOICE  READINGS 

and  night,  until  in  ten  years  she  had  made  herself  an  old  woman,  as 
you  see  she  is  to-day. 

"  And  for  what  ?  To  get  me  free  again ;  to  bring  me  things  to 
eat  in  jail,  and  picture  papers,  and  tobacco  —  when  she  w^as  living 
on  bacon  and  potatoes,  and  drinking  alkali  water  —  working  to 
pay  for  a  lawyer  to  fight  for  me  —  to  pay  for  the  best  lawyer." 

The  man  stopped  suddenly  and  turned  with  a  puzzled  look 
towards  where  his  wife  sat,  for  she  had  dropped  her  head  on  the 
table  in  front  of  her,  and  he  had  heard  her  sobbing. 

"  And  what  I  want  to  ask  of  you,  sir,  is  to  let  me  have  two 
years  out  of  jail  to  show  her  how  I  feel  about  it.  It 's  all  I  Ve 
thought  of  when  I  was  in  jail,  to  be  able  to  see  her  sitting  in  her 
own  kitchen  with  her  hands  folded,  and  me  working  and  sweating 
in  the  fields  for  her,  working  till  every  bone  ached,  trying  to  make 
it  up  to  her. 

"  And  I  can't,"  the  man  cried,  suddenly  losing  the  control 
he  had  forced  upon  himself,  and  tossing  his  hands  up  above  his 
head,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  hopelessly  on  the  bowed  head  before 
him.  "  I  can't!  It 's  too  late!  It 's  too  late!  Do  n't  send  me  back 
for  life.  Give  me  a  few  years  to  work  for  her  —  two  years,  one 
year, —  to  show  her  what  I  feel  here,  what  I  never  felt  for  her 
before.  Look  at  her,  gentlemen,  look  how  worn  she  is,  and  poorly, 
and  look  at  her  hands,  and  you  men  must  feel  how  I  feel  —  I  do  n't 
ask  you  for  myself.  I  do  n't  want  to  go  free  on  my  own  account. 
My  God !  Judge,  do  n't  bury  me  alive,  as  that  man  asked  you  to. 
I  only  want  to  live  with  her.  Give  me  this  last  chance.  Let  me 
prove  that  what  I  'm  saying  is  true." 

The  man  stopped  and  stood,  searching  wnth  desperate  eagerness 
from  face  to  face.  The  gentlemen  of  the  jury  sat  quite  motionless, 
looking  straight  ahead.  No  one  moved  until  there  was  a  sudden 
stir  around  the  district  attorney's  table,  and  the  men  stepped  aside 
and  let  the  woman  pass  them  and  throw  herself  against  the  pris- 
oner's box.  The  prisoner  bent  his  tall,  gaunt  figure  over  the  rail, 
and  as  the  woman  pressed  his  one  hand  against  her  face,  touched 
her  shoulder  with  the  other  awkwardly. 

"  There  now,  do  n't  take  on  so.  Now  you  know  how  I  feel, 
it 's  all  right ;  do  n't  take  on." 

Judge  Traux  looked  at  the  paper  on  his  desk  for  some  seconds, 
and  raised  his  head,  coughing  as  he  did  so.  "  It  lies  —  "  Judge 
Traux  began,  and  then  stopped,  and  began  again  in  a  more  certaitt 


MISCELLANEOUS  52S 

tone.  "  It  lies  at  the  discretion  of  this  court  to  sentence  the  prisonv?* 
to  a  term  of  imprisonment  of  two  years,,  or  for  an  indefinite  perion^ 
or  for  life.  Owing  to —  On  account  of  certain  circumstances 
which  were  —  have  arisen  —  this  sentence  is  suspended.  This  court 
stands  adjourned." 

As  he  finished,  he  sprang  out  of  his  chair  impulsively,  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  the  district  attorney's  shoulder. 

"  Harry!  Harry,  my  boy,  could  you  go  to  Austin  and  repeat 
the  speech  that  man  has  just  made  to  the  governor?  " 

The  boy  orator  laughed,  and  took  one  of  the  older  man's  hands 
in  both  of  his,  and  pressed  it  quickly.  ''  I  'd  like  mighty  v;ell  to 
try,"  he  said. 

—  Richard  Harding  Davis. 


YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND 

Ye  mariners  of  England, 

That  guard  our  native  seas; 
Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep. 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirit  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave; 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame. 

And  Ocean  was  their  grave. 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell, 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow. 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep. 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


524  CHOICE  READINGS 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep; 
Her  march  is  o^er  the  mountain  waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 
With  thunders  from  her  native  oak. 

She  quells  the  floods  below, — 
As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow; 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn; 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

—  Thomas  CampbelL 


BATTLE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord ; 

He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are 

stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift  sword, 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling  camps; 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and  damps ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps, 
His  days  are  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel ; 
'*  As  ye  deal  with  My  contemners,  so  with  you  My  grace  shall  deal ; 
Let  the  Hero  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  His  heel, 
Since  God  is  marching  on.** 


MISCELLANEOUS  525 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment  seat; 
O,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him!  be  jubilant  my  feet! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me; 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 

—  Julia  Ward  Howe. 


THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  SHEPHERDS 

A  mile  and  a  half, —  it  may  be  two  miles,  southeast  of  Beth- 
lehem, there  is  a  plain  separated  from  the  town  by  an  intervening 
swell  of  the  mountain.  At  the  side  farthest  from  the  town,  close 
under  a  bluff,  there  is  an  extensive  sheepcot,  ages  old.  In  some 
long-forgotten  foray,  the  building  had  been  unroofed  and  almost 
demolished.  The  inclosure  attached  to  it  remained  almost  intact, 
however,  and  this  was  of  more  importance  to  the  shepherds  who 
drove  their  charges  thither  than  the  house  itself. 

There  were  six  of  these  men,  omitting  the  watchman:  and 
afterwhile  they  assembled  in  a  group  near  the  fire,  some  sitting, 
some  lying  prone.  They  rested  and  talked ;  and  their  talk  was  all 
about  their  flocks,  a  dull  theme  to  the  world,  yet  a  theme  which 
was  all  the  world  to  them.  While  they  talked,  and  before  the  first 
watch  was  over,  one  by  one,  the  shepherds  went  to  sleep,  each  lying 
where  he  had  sat. 

Rude  and  simple  as  they  were  in  their  lives,  they  had  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  true  God,  and  a  belief  that  they  must  love  and  serve 
Him. 

The  night,  like  most  nights  of  the  winter  season  in  the  hill 
country,  was  clear,  crisp,  and  sparkling  with  stars.  There  was 
no  wind.  The  atmosphere  seemed  never  so  pure ;  the  stillness  was 
more  than  silence;  it  was  a  holy  hush,  a  warning  that  heaven  was 
stooping  low  to  whisper  some  good  thing  to  the  listening  earth. 

By  the  gate,  hugging  his  mantle  close,  the  watchman  walked ; 
at  times  he  stopped,  attracted  by  a  stir  among  the  sleeping  herds, 
or  by  a  jackaFs  cry  off  on  the  mountain-side.  The  midnight  was 
slow  coming  to  him  but  at  last  it  came.   His  task  was  done;  now 


526  CHOICE  READINGS 

for  the  dreamless  sleep  with  which  labor  blesses  its  wearied  chiK 
dren.  He  moved  toward  the  fire,  but  paused  —  a  light  was  break- 
ing round  him,  soft  and  white,  like  the  moon^s.  He  waited  breath- 
lessly.  The  light  deepened;  things  before  invisible  came  to  view; 
he  saw  the  whole  field,  and  all  it  sheltered.  A  chill  sharper  than 
that  of  the  frosty  air  —  a  chill  of  fear  smote  him.  He  looked  up; 
the  stars  were  gone;  the  light  was  dropping  as  from  a  window 
in  the  sky;  as  he  looked,  it  became  a  splendor;  then,  in  terror,  he 
cried :  — 

"Awake,  awake!  " 

Up  sprang  the  dogs,  and,  howling,  ran  away. 

The  herds  rushed  together  bewildered. 

The  men  clambered  to  their  feet,  weapons  in  hand. 

"  What  is  It?  "  they  asked,  in  one  voice. 

"  See!  "  cried  the  watchman,  "  the  sky  is  on  fire! '' 

Suddenly  the  light  became  intolerably  bright,  and  they  covered 
their  eyes,  and  dropped  upon  their  knees;  then,  as  their  souls  shrank 
with  fear,  they  fell  upon  their  faces  blind  and  fainting,  and  would 
have  died  had  not  a  voice  said  to  them:  — 

'^  Fear  not!" 

And  they  listened. 

"  Fear  not:  for,  behold,  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy, 
which  shall  be  to  all  people.  For  unto  you  is  born  this  day,  in  the 
city  of  David,  a  Savior,  which  is  Christ  the  Lord.  And  this  shall 
be  a  sign  unto  you;  ye  shall  find  the  babe  wrapped  in  swaddling 
clothes,  lying  in  a  manger.'* 

The  voice,  in  sweetness  and  soothing  more  than  human,  and 
low  and  clear,  penetrated  all  their  beings,  and  filled  them  with 
assurance.  They  rose  upon  their  knees,  and,  looking  worshipfully, 
beheld  in  the  center  of  a  great  glory  the  appearance  of  a  man,  clad 
in  a  robe  intensely  white;  above  his  shoulders  towered  the  tops  of 
wings  shining  and  folded;  a  star  over  his  forehead  glowed  with 
steady  lustre,  brilliant  as  Hesperus;  his  hands  were  stretched 
toward  them  in  blessing;  his  face  was  serene  and  divinely  beautiful. 

The  herald  spoke  not  again;  his  good  tidings  were  told;  yet 
he  stayed  awhile.  Suddenly  the  light,  of  which  he  seemed  the 
center,  turned  roseate  and  began  to  tremble;  then  up,  up,  up,  far 
as  the  men  could  see,  there  was  flashing  of  white  wings,  and  com- 
ing and  going  of  radiant  forms,  and  voices  as  of  a  multitude  chant^ 
ing  in  unison : 


MISCELLANEOUS  527 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will 
toward  men/' 

Not  once  the  praise,  but  many  times. 

Then  the  herald  raised  his  eyes  as  seeking  approval  of  one  far 
off;  his  wings  stirred,  and  spread  slowly  and  majestically,  he  arose 
lightly,  and,  without  effort,  floated  out  of  view,  taking  the  light 
up  with  him.  Long  after  he  was  gone,  down  from  the  sky  fell  the 
refrain,  in  measure  mellowed  by  distance:  — 

"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will 
toward  men." 

—  Lew  Wallace, 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

The  first  scene  is  laid  in  the  Fir  Cone  Tavern  in  Paris.  It  was  a  favorite 
diversion  of  Louis  XI  to  disguise  himself,  and  with  a  single  companion  go 
about  the  city's  haunts  listening  to  what  was  said  of  himself. 

In  the  Fir  Cone  Tavern  a  merry  group  was  gathered,  drinking 
and  dicing.  It  was  not  the  kind  of  company  that  a  wise  man 
would  care  to  keep,  for  every  face  was  familiar  to  the  police. 
Little  it  mattered  to  them  that  outside  the  walls  of  Paris  the  suc- 
cessful and  confident  Burgundian  army  encamped,  while  on  the 
throne  of  France  sat  the  weak,  incompetent  Louis  XI.  It  was 
evident  that  the  rogues  were  expecting  someone.  Soon  the  door 
swung  noisily  open  and  a  strange  figure  entered,  a  man  of  middle 
height,  spare  and  slight.  His  face  was  bronzed  by  sun  and  wind, 
his  dark  hair  long  and  unkempt,  his  eyes  bright  and  quick.  A  cun- 
ning reader  of  features  would  have  found  a  home  for  high  thought 
behind  the  fine  forehead,  lines  of  infinite  tenderness  upon  the  lips, 
the  light  of  some  noble  conflagration  in  the  eager  eye.  He  was 
dressed  in  faded  finery.  His  ruined  cloak  was  tilted  by  a  long 
sword  and  in  his  leathern  belt  a  vellum  bound  book  of  verse  kept 
company  with  a  dagger.  It  was  Francois  Villon,  scholar,  poet, 
drinker,  sworder,  good  at  pen,  point,  and  pitcher. 

He  poised  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold  in  a  fantastic  atti- 
tude of  salutation  ere  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him  and  strode 
forward  to  meet  his  friends. 

"  Well,  Hearts  of  Gold,  how  are  ye?   Did  ye  miss  me,  lads?  " 

Every  man  thrust  his  own  mug  towards  Master  Francois, 
beseeching  him  to  drink  of  it. 


528  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  What  can  a  man  do  but  drink  when  France  is  going  to  the 
devil,  with  the  Burgundian  camped  on  the  fields  where  I  played  in 
childhood,  and  a  nincompoop  sits  on  the  throne  and  lets  them 
besiege  his  city?  " 

'  *'  No  doubt,  you  could  do  better  than  the  King  if  you  wore  the 
king's  shoes,"  cried  one. 

"  If  I  could  not  do  better  than  Louis-do-Nothing,  Louis-Dare- 
Nothing,  may  my  lips  never  again  touch  wine." 

"  Our  Francois  has  made  a  rhyme  of  it,  how  he  would  carry 
himself  if  he  wore  the  King's  shoes,"  shouted  another. 

"  Has  he,  indeed?  "  said  Louis.  *'  May  we  not  hear  it,  Master 
Poet?" 

*' You  may;  you  shall;  for  'tis  a  true  song,  though  it  would 
cost  me  my  neck  if  it  came  to  the  King's  ears,  very  likely." 

With  a  shout  Villon  sprang  to  his  feet,  draped  his  tattered 
cloak  closely  about  him,  struck  a  commanding  attitude,  and  began 
to  recite  with  great  solemnity : 

All  French  folks,  whereso^er  ye  be, 

Who   love  your  country,  soil  and  sand 
From  Paris  to  the  Breton  sea, 

And  back  again  to  Norman  strand, 
Forsooth  ye  seem  a  silly  band, 

Sheep  without  shepherd,  left  to  chance. 
Far  otherwise  our   Fatherland 

If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France ! 

The  figure  on  the  throne  you  see 

Is  nothing  but  a  puppet,  planned 
To  wear  the  regal  bravery 

Of  silken  coat  and  gilded  wand. 
Not  so  we   Frenchmen   understand 

The  Lord  of  lion's  heart  and  glance, 
And   such   a  one  would   take   command, 

If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France! 

The  King's  face  was  a  study  in  sardonics. 

The  gang  applauded  and  Villon  glowed  with  their  applause. 

His  counsellors  are  rogues,  Perdie! 

While  men  of  honest  mind  are  banned 
To  creak  upon  the  Gallows  Tree, 

Or  squeal  ip  prisons  over  manned; 


MISCELLANEOUS  529 

We  want  a  chief  to  bear  the  brand 
And   bid   the    damned    Burgundians    dance; 

God!     Where  the  Oriflamme  should   stand 
If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France! 

A  roar  of  enthusiasm  came  from  the  full  throats  of  the  band. 
But  the  poet  seemed  weary  after  so  much  heat.  The  rogues  rattled 
away  to  their  table  again  and  Villon  was  left  alone  with  Louis,  who 
questioned  him  drjdy: 

**  You  call  yourself  a  patriot,  I  suppose?  " 

"  By  no  such  high-sounding  title,"  Villon  answered,  *'  I  am 
a  poor  devil  with  a  heart  too  big  for  his  body  and  a  hope  too  large 
for  his  hoop.  Had  I  been  born  in  a  palace,  I  might  have  led  armies 
and  served  France.  I  have  great  thoughts,  great  desires,  great 
ambitions,  great  appetites,  what  you  will.  I  might  have  changed 
the  world  and  left  a  memory.  As  it  is  I  sleep  in  a  garret  under  the 
shadow  of  the  gallows,  and  shall  be  forgotten  to-morrow,  even  by 
the  wolves  I  pack  with." 

—  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy, 


THE  BURGUNDIAN  DEFIANCE 

Francois  Villon  has  seen  and  dared  to  love  the  Lady  Kath- 
erine  de  Vaucelles,  who,  in  her  beauty  and  pride,  has  refused  the 
King's  suit.  This  lady,  made  desperate  by  the  attentions  of  the 
Grand  Constable,  bethinks  her  of  the  love  verses  sent  by  the  tavern 
poet,  and  asks  him  to  rid  her  of  her  enemy.  Villon  makes  a  quarrel 
with  the  great  Lord,  wounds  him,  and  is  taken  prisoner  by  the 
King  and  the  Guards. 

At  this  time  Paris  is  in  a  state  of  siege,  surrounded  by  the 
forces  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  King  Louis  is  influenced 
through  a  dream  to  believe  that  this  same  Villon  is  the  power  that 
will  deliver  the  city. 

He  sets  Villon  into  the  place  of  Grand  Constable,  left  vacant 
through  Villon's  sword,  and  hopes  to  lower  the  pride  of  the  Lady 
Katherine,  who  denied  the  King,  by  making  her  love,  in  the 
semblance  of  a  valorous  stranger,  the  wild  tavern  brawler. 

When  she  begs  the  King  for  the  poor  prisoner's  life  —  think- 
ing Villon  in  the  dungeon,  he  sends  her  to  plead  her  suit  before  the 
new  Lord  Constable. 


530  CHOICE  READINGS 

It  was  Francois  Villon's  first  day  of  power  as  Lord  of  Mont- 
corbier,  Grand  Constable  of  France. 

"  My  Lord,  will  you  listen  to  a  distressed  lady?  " 

"  Not  while  the  lady  kneels,"  and  he  looked  with  a  strange 
apprehension  into  the  frank,  bright  eyes  of  Katherine.  **  She  does 
not  know  me,"  Villon's  delight  cried  in  his  heart.  The  Lord  of 
Montcorbier,  who  was  Grand  Constable  of  France,  might  say 
many  things  that  were  denied  to  the  lips  of  Francois  Villon. 

"  There  is  a  man  in  prison  at  this  hour  for  whom  I  would 
implore  your  clemency.  His  name  is  Francois  Villon.  Last  night 
he  wounded  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  —  " 

"  Thereby  making  room  for  me." 

*'  The  penalty  is  death.  But  Thibaut  was  a  traitor  sold  to 
Burgundy.  This  man  had  seen  me,  thought  he  loved  me,  sent  m.e 
verses  —  I  was  in  mortal  fear  of  Thibaut  d'Aussigny.  I  went  to 
this  Villon  and  begged  him  to  kill  my  enemy.  He  backed  his  love 
tale  with  his  sword  —  and  he  lies  in  the  shadow  of  death.  It  is 
not  just  that  he  should  suffer  for  my  sin." 

"  Do  you  by  any  chance  love  this  Villon  ?  " 

"  Great  ladies  do  not  love  tavern  bravos.  But  I  pity  him,  and 
I  do  not  want  him  to  die, —  though,  indeed,  life  cannot  be  very 
dear  to  him  if  he  would  fling  it  away  to  please  a  woman." 

'*  That  broker  of  ballads  shall  go  free.  Your  prayer  unshackles 
him  and  we  will  do  no  more  than  banish  him  from  Paris." 

"  I  shall  remember  your  clemency." 

She  made  as  if  she  would  leave  his  presence,  but  his  boldness 
waxed  within  him  as  a  fire  waxes  with  new  wood,  and  he  caught 
her  lightly  by  the  wrist. 

"  By  Saint  Venus,  I  envy  this  fellow  that  he  should  have 
won  your  thoughts,  for  I  am  in  his  case  and  I,  too,  would  die  to 
serve  you !  " 

**  My  Lord,  )^ou  do  not  know  me." 

'*  Did  he  know  you  ?  Yet  when  he  saw  you  he  loved  you  and 
made  bold  to  tell  you  so." 

"  His  words  were  no  more  account  than  the  wind  m  the  leaves. 
But  you  and  I  are  peers  and  the  words  we  change  have  meanings." 

Villon  caupht  his  breath. 

"  Though  I  be  newly  come  to  Paris  I  have  heard  much  of  the 
beauty  and  more  of  the  pride  of  the  Lady  Katherine  de  Vaucelles." 


MISCELLANEOUS  531 

"  I  am  humble  enough  as  to  my  beauty,  but  I  am  very  proud, 
of  my  pride/' 

*'  Would  you  pity  me  if  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you?  " 

"Heaven's  mercy,  how  fast  your  fancy  gallops!  I  care  little 
to  be  flattered  and  less  to  be  w^ooed,  and  I  sw^ear  that  I  should  be 
very  hard  to  w^in." 

"  I  have  more  right  to  try  than  your  tap-room  bandit.  I  see 
what  he  saw;  I  love  what  he  loved." 

"  You  are  very  inflammable." 

"  My  fire  burns  to  the  ashes.  You  can  no  more  stay  me  from 
kving  you  than  you  can  stay  the  flowers  from  loving  the  soft  air,, 
or  true  men  from  loving  honour,  or  heroes  from  loving  glory.  I 
would  rake  the  moon  from  heaven  for  you." 

"  That  promise  has  grown  rusty  since  Adam  first  made  it  tc 
Eve.    There  is  a  rhyme  in  my  mind  about  moons  and  lovers :  — 

Life  is  unstable, 

Love  m?y  uphold; 
Fear   goes  in   sable, 

Courage  in  gold. 
Mystery  covers 

Midnight  and  noon, 
Heroes   and  lovers 

Cry  for  the  moon. 

The  words  were  his  own,  but  he  said,  carelessly,  "  What  dog- 
gerel!" 

"  Doggerel !    It  is  divinity." 

"  Tell  me  what  I  may  do  to  win  your  favour." 

"A  trifle.   Save  France!" 

"No  more?" 

"  No  less.  Are  you  not  Grand  Constable,  chief  of  the  King's 
army?  There  is  an  enemy  at  the  gates  of  Paris,  and  none  of  the 
King's  m.en  can  frighten  him  away.  Oh,  that  a  man  would  come 
to  court!  For  the  man  who  shall  trail  the  banners  of  Burgundy 
in  the  dust  for  the  King  of  France  to  walk  on,  I  may,  perhaps, 
have  favours.  I  go  to  the  Queen."  And  so,  with  a  swift  salutation, 
gracious  as  the  dip  of  a  dancing  wave,  she  entered  the  palace  and 
left  him  standing  there,  dazed  and  ardent,  as  a  man  might  be  who 
had  just  been  vouchsafed  the  vision  of  an  angel.  He  was  so. 
wrapped  in  his  sweet  contemplations  that  he  did  not  hear  the  tower 


632  CHOICE  READINGS 

door  gently  open,  did  not  hear  the  soft,  creeping  footsteps  of  the 
King  as  he  shuffled  across  the  soft  grass  toward  his  plaything. 

A  touch  on  the  shoulder  roused  Villon  and  he  turned  with  a 
start  to  find  the  sable  figure  of  the  King  at  his  side  and  the  sinister 
visage  smiling  upon  him, 

"Good  afternoon.  Lord  Constable,  does  power  taste  well?" 

**  Nobly,  sire.   On  my  knees  let  me  thank  your  majesty." 

"  Nonsense,  man ;  I  'm  pleasing  myself.  You  sang  yourself  into 
-splendour.  'If  Francois  were  the  King  of  France,'  eh?  Well, 
I  could  n't  very  well  make  you  King,  you  know,  and  I  should  n't 
if  I  could,  for  I  have  a  fancy  for  the  task  myself.  I  said,  '  I  will 
make  him  my  Grand  Constable  for  a  week/  " 

"A  week,  sire?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  did  your  vanity  credit  a  permanent  appointment? 
Come,  friend,  come,  that  would  be  pushing  the  joke  too  far!  " 

All  the  sunlight  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  the  world,  all 
the  scent  out  of  the  roses.  Villon  could  only  repeat  to  himself: 
^*  A  week !  A  week !  And  then  go  back  to  the  garret  and  the  ken- 
nel, the  tavern  and  the  brothel !  " 

Louis'  malign  smile  deepened.  "  No,  no,  not  exactly.  You 
don't  taste  the  full  force  of  the  joke  yet.  In  a  week's  time  you 
will  build  me  a  big  gibbet  in  the  Place  de  Greve,  and  there  your 
last  task  as  Grand  Constable  will  be  to  hang  Master  Francois 
Villon.  You  read  Louis  of  France  a  lesson,  and  Louis  of  France 
returns  the  compliment.  You  mouthed  your  longing  for  the  chance 
to  show  what  you  could  do.  Here  is  your  chance!  Take  it  or 
leave  it.  But,  remember,  that  I  never  change  my  mind.  You  may 
have  your  week  of  wonder  if  you  wish,  but  if  you  do,  by  my  word 
as  a  King,  you  shall  swing  for  it." 

Villon  rose  to  his  feet  and  caught  at  his  throat.  "  Heaven 
help  me!  Life,  squalid,  sordid,  but  still  life,  with  its  tavern  cor- 
ners and  its  brute  pleasures  of  food  and  drink  and  warm  sleep,  liv- 
ing hands  to  hold  and  living  laughter  to  gladden  me  —  or  a  week 
of  cloth  of  gold,  of  glory,  of  love  —  and  then  a  shameful  death!  " 

**  One  further  chance,  fellow.  If  the  Count  of  Montcorbier 
win  the  heart  of  Lady  Katherine  de  Vaucelles  within  the  week,  he 
shall  escape  the  gallows  and  carry  his  lady  love  where  he  pleases." 

"  On  your  word  of  honor,  sire?  " 

"  My  word  is  my  honor,  Master  Francois.  Well  ?  " 

At  this  very  moment  it  pleased  heaven  that  Katherine,  sitting 


MISCELLANEOUS  533 

on  the  terrace,  began  to  sing.  The  tune  was  quaint  and  plaintive, 
tender  as  an  ancient  lullaby,  the  words  were  the  words  of  the  tor- 
tured poet,  and  as  he  heard  them  a  new  hope  seemed  to  come  into 
his  heart. 

"  Well,  you  cry  for  the  moon ;  I  give  it  to  you.'* 

**  And  I  take  it  at  your  hands !  Give  me  my  week  of  wonders^ 
though  I  die  a  dog's  death  at  the  end  of  it.  I  will  show  France 
and  her  what  lay  in  the  heart  of  a  poor  rhymester.'* 

"  Spoken  like  a  man !  But,  remember,  a  bargain  *s  a  bargain. 
If  you  fail  to  win  the  lady,  you  must,  with  heaven's  help,  keep 
yourself  for  the  gallows.  No  self-slaughter,  no  flinging  away  your 
life  on  some  other  fool's  sword.  I  give  you  the  moon,  but  I  want 
my  price  for  it." 

"  Sire,  I  will  keep  my  bargain.  Give  me  my  week  of  oppor- 
tunity, and  if  I  do  not  make  the  most  of  it  I  shall  deserve  the 
death  to  which  you  devote  me.*' 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  air  was  stirred  with  a  cheerful  flourish 
of  trumpets  and  the  quiet  garden  was  invaded  by  a  company  of 
soldiers,  escorting  a  tall  and  stately  gentleman,  whose  gorgeous 
tabard  proclaimed  him  to  be  the  herald  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 
The  news  of  his  coming  had  run  through  the  palace,  and  the  ter- 
race was  suddenly  flooded  with  courtiers  and  ladies  eager  to  hear 
what  the  enemy's  envoy  had  to  say  and  what  answer  the  King 
would  send  back  to  him.  Louis  seated  himself  on  the  marble 
bench  and  drew  Villon  down  beside  him. 

"  Listen  well  to  this  man's  words,  my  Lord  Constable.  Your 
message,  sir  ?  " 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  of  his  allies  and 
brothers-in-arms,  assembled  in  solemn  leaguer  outside  the  walls  of 
Paris,  I  hereby  summon  you,  Louis  of  France,  to  surrender  this 
city  unconditionally,  and  to  yield  yourself  in  confidence  to  my 
master's  mercy." 

"  And  if  we  refuse,  Sir  Herald?  " 

"  The  worst  disasters  of  war,  fire  and  sword,  and  famine^ 
much  blood  to  shed,  and  much  gold  to  pay,  and,  for  yourself,  no 
hope  of  pardon." 

"  Great  words." 

"  The  angels  of  great  deeds." 

**  The  Count  of  Montcorbier,  Constable  of  France,  is  my  coun- 


534  CHOICE  READINGS 

sellor.    His  voice  delivers  my  mind.    Speak,  friend,  and  give  this 
messenger  his  answer." 

"Asl  will,  sire?" 

"  Yes,  go  on,  go  on.   *  If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France ! '  " 

Villon  leaped  to  his  feet  and  advanced  toward  the  herald.  A 
v/ild  exultation  filled  his  veins  with  fire.  He  had  always  dreamed 
of  the  great  deeds  he  would  do,  and  now  great  deeds  were  possible 
to  him,  and,  at  least,  he  would  try  to  do  them.  He  looked  straight 
into  the  herald's  changeless  face,  but  his  heart  shrined  Katherine 
as  he  spoke. 

*'  Herald  of  Burgundy,  in  God's  name,  and  the  King's,  I  bid 
you  go  back  to  your  master  and  say  this:  '  Kings  are  great  in  the 
eyes  of  their  people,  but  the  people  are  great  in  the  eyes  of  God, 
and  it  is  the  people  of  France  who  answer  you  in  the  name  of  this 
epitome.  The  people  of  Paris  are  not  so  poor  of  spirit  that  they 
fear  the  croak  of  the  Burgundian  ravens.  We  are  well  victualled, 
we  are  well  armed ;  we  lie  snug  and  warm  behind  our  stout  walls ; 
we  laugh  at  your  leaguer.  But  when  we  who  eat  are  hungry, 
when  we  who  drink  are  dry,  when  we  who  glow  are  frozen,  when 
there  is  neither  bite  on  the  board,  nor  sup  in  the  pitcher,  nor  spark 
upon  the  hearth,  our  answer  to  rebellious  Burgundy  will  be  the 
same.  You  are  knocking  at  our  doors,  beware  lest  we  open  them 
and  come  forth  to  speak  with  our  enemy  at  the  gate.  We  give  you 
back  defiance  for  defiance,  menace  for  menace,  blow  for  blow.  This 
is  our  answer  —  this  and  the  drawn  sword.  God  and  St.  Denis  for 
the  King  of  France !  " 

There  was  contagion  in  his  burning  words,  and  every  soldier 
present  bared  his  blade  and  pointed  it  to  heaven  while  Villon's 
cry  was  repeated  upon  a  hundred  lips.  Katherine  came  swiftly 
down  the  steps  and  flung  herself  at  Villon's  feet. 

"  My  Lord,  with  my  lips  the  women  of  France  thank  you 
for  your  words  of  flame." 

"  Mistress,  what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  It  means,  sire,  that  a  man  has  come  to  court !  " 

—  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy, 


THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE 

**  The  Lion  and  the  Mouse  "  is  a  story  of  American  life  of 
the  present  day.   John  Burkett  Ryder,  a  great  commercial  pirate, 


MISCELLANEOUS  535 

who  is  known  as  the  richest  man  in  the  world,  is  the  Lion  of  the 
story.  He  wishes  to  remove  from  office  Judge  Rossmore  of  the 
United  States  Circuit  Court,  because  this  judge  has  sustained  an 
injunction  against  him  in  regard  to  some  railroad  scheme.  Mr. 
Ryder  is  aroused  more  than  anything  else  by  the  idea  that  anyone 
should  thwart  his  will. 

Shirley  Rossmore,  the  daughter  of  the  Judge,  has  written  a 
book  on  the  life  of  Ryder.  She  has  given  a  fictitious  name  to  the 
principal  character,  but  everyone  recognizes  the  man  to  be  Ryder. 
She  has  also  signed  herself  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  Miss  Green. 
Jefferson  Ryder,  the  son  of  the  rich  man,  is  in  love  with  Shirley, 
and  his  father,  knowing  this  fact,  is  bitterly  opposed  to  the  match. 

Impressed  by  the  cleverness  of  the  writer,  Mr.  Ryder  asks 
her  to  become  his  private  secretary,  not  knowing  she  is  the  daughter 
of  the  man  he  hates.  She  consents,  as  she  thinks  by  this  means 
she  will  be  able  to  obtain  some  letters  which  will  prove  her  father 
innocent  of  charges  Ryder  holds  against  him.  She  begins  to  write 
Ryder's  biography,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  Jefferson  takes  the 
letters  from  his  father's  desk,  and  sends  them  to  Judge  Scott,  a 
family  friend  of  Judge  Rossmore.  The  letters  are  received  too 
late,  and,  as  a  last  resort.  Judge  Scott  brings  back  the  letters  to 
John  Ryder  and  begs  him  to  have  mercy  on  his  friend.  Judge 
Rossmore.  But  Ryder,  beside  himself  with  rage  against  his  son, 
because  he  loves  Shirley  Rossmore  and  because  he  has  taken  the 
letters,  dismisses  Judge  Scott  from  his  presence  and  sends  for 
Jefferson.  The  following  scene  is  laid  in  the  beautiful  library  of 
John  Ryder's  home.  Mr.  Ryder  and  Shirley  Rossmore  are  present 
when  Jefferson  enters  the  room,  and  the  scene  proper  begins. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  father?  " 

"  Yes.   Have  you  seen  these  letters  before?  " 

"Yes,  I  took  them  out  of  your  desk  and  sent  them  to  Mr. 
Scott  in  the  hope  they  would  help  Judge  Rossmore's  case." 

"  So !  You  deliberately  sacrificed  my  interests  to  save  this 
woman's  father  —  you  hear  him,  Miss  Green?  Jefferson,  my  son, 
I  think  it 's  time  you  and  I  had  a  final  accounting.  Please  do  n't 
go,  Miss  Green.  As  the  writer  of  my  biography,  you  are  sufficiently 
well  acquainted  with  my  family  afFairs  to  warrant  your  being  pres- 
ent at  the  epilogue.  Besides,  I  want  an  excuse  for  holding  my  tem- 
per. Sit  down,  Miss  Green.  For  your  mother's  sake,  my  boy,  I 
have  overlooked  your  little  eccentricities  of  character.    But  now 


536  CHOICE  READINGS 

we  have  arrived  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  —  you  have  gone  too 
far.  The  one  aspect  of  this  business  I  cannot  overlook  is  your 
willingness  to  sell  your  own  father  for  the  sake  of  a  woman." 

"  My  own  father  would  not  hesitate  to  sell  me  if  his  business 
and  political  interests  warranted  the  sacrifice." 

Shirley  attempted  the  role  of  peacemaker.  Appealing  to  the 
younger  man,  she  said: 

"  Please  do  n^t  talk  like  that,  Mr.  Jefferson."  Then  she  turned 
to  Ryder,  "  I  do  n't  think  your  son  quite  understands  you,  Mr. 
Ryder,  and,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  I  do  n't  think  you  quite  under- 
stand him.  Do  you  realize  that  there  is  a  man's  life  at  stake  —  that 
Judge  Rossmore  is  almost  at  the  point  of  death  and  that  favorable 
news  from  the  Senate  to-morrow  is  perhaps  the  only  thing  that 
can  save  him  ?  '* 

"  Ah,  I  see,  Judge  Scott's  story  has  aroused  your  sympathy." 

"  Yes,  I  —  I  confess  my  sympathy  is  aroused.  I  do  feel  for  this 
father  whose  life  is  slowly  ebbing  away  —  whose  strength  is  being 
sapped  hourly  by  the  thought  of  the  disgrace  —  the  injustice  that 
is  being  done  him !  I  do  feel  for  the  wife  of  this  suffering  man !  " 

"  Ah,  it 's  a  complete  picture,"  cried  Ryder  mockingly.  "  The 
dying  father,  the  sorrowing  mother  —  and  the  daughter,  what  is 
she  supposed  to  be  doing?" 

"  She  is  fighting  for  her  father's  life." 

"  His  removal  is  a  political  necessity.  If  he  goes  back  on  the 
bench,  every  paltry  justice  of  the  peace,  every  petty  official  will 
think  he  has  a  special  mission  to  tear  down  the  structure  that  hard 
work  and  capital  have  erected.  No,  this  man  has  been  especially 
conspicuous  in  his  efforts  to  block  the  progress  of  amalgamated 
interests !  " 

"  And  so,  he  must  be  sacrificed  ?  "  cried  Shirley  indignantly. 

"He  is  innocent  of  the  charges  brought  against  him,"  urged 
Jefferson. 

"Mr.  Ryder  is  not  considering  that  point.  All  he  can  see  is 
that  it  is  necessary  to  put  this  poor  old  man  in  the  public  pillory, 
to  set  him  up  as  a  warning  to  others  of  his  class,  not  to  act  in 
accordance  with  the  principles  of  Truth  and  Justice  —  not  to  dare 
to  obstruct  the  car  of  Juggernaut  set  in  motion  by  the  money  gods 
of  the  country!  " 

"  It 's  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  my  dear." 

"  Ah !  Use  your  great  influence  with  this  governing  body  for 


MISCELLANEOUS,  537 

good,  not  evil!  Urge  them  to  vote  not  in  accordance  with  party 
policy  and  personal  interest,  but  in  accordance  with  their  con- 
sciences —  in  accordance  with  Truth  and  Justice !  Ah,  for  God's 
sake,  Mr.  Ryder!  do  n't  permit  this  foul  injustice  to  blot  the  name 
of  the  highest  tribunal  in  the  Western  world !  Suppose, —  suppose 
this  daughter  promises  that  she  will  go  away  to  some  foreign 
country?  " 

"  No!  "  burst  in  Jefferson.  "  Why  should  she?  If  my  father 
is  not  man  enough  to  do  a  simple  act  of  justice  without  bartering  a 
woman's  happiness  and  his  son's  happiness,  let  him  find  comfort  in 
his  self -justification !  " 

Ryder  made  a  quick  movement  towards  his  son  and  took  him 
by  the  arm.    Pointing  to  Shirley  he  said' in  a  low  tone: 

"  You  see  how  that  girl  pleads  your  cause  for  you !  She  loves 
you,  my  boy! ''  Jefferson  started.  "  Yes,  she  does.  She  *s  worth  a 
thousand  of  the  Rossmore  woman.  Make  her  your  wife,  and 
I'll  —  " 

"  Make  her  my  wife !  Make  her  my  wife  ?  "  he  repeated  incred- 
ulously. 

'*  Well,  what  do  you  say?  "  demanded  Ryder,  Sr. 

"Yes,  yes,  Shir  —  Miss  Green,  will  you?" 

Seeing  that  Shirley  made  no  sign  he  said,  "  Not  now,  father  ; 
I  will  speak  to  her  later." 

"No,  no,  to-night,  at  once!"  Addressing  Shirley,  he  went 
on:  "  Miss  Green,  my  son  is  much  affected  by  your  disinterested 
appeal  in  his  behalf.  He  —  he  —  you  can  save  him  from  himself  — 
my  son  wishes  you  —  he  asks  you  to  become  his  wife !  Is  it  not  so, 
Jefferson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  wife !  " 

The  girl  shrank  back  in  alarm. 

"  No,  no,  no,  Mr.  Ryder,  I  cannot,  I  cannot!  " 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Ryder.  "Ah,  don't  decide 
hastily  —  " 

Shirley,  her  face  set  and  drawn,  and  keen  mental  distress  show- 
ing in  every  line  of  it,  faced  the  two  men,  pale  and  determined. 
The  time  had  come  to  reveal  the  truth.  This  masquerade  could  go 
on  no  longer.  It  was  not  honorable  either  to  her  father  or  to 
herself.  Her  self-respect  demanded  that  she  inform  the  financier  of 
her  true  identity. 

"  I  cannot  marry  your  son  with  these  lies  upon  my  lips !     I  can- 


538  CHOICE  READINGS 

not  go  on  with  this  deception.  I  told  you  you  did  not  know 
who  I  was,  who  my  people  were.  My  story  about  them,  my 
name,  everything  about  me  is  false,  every  word  I  have  uttered 
is  a  lie,  a  fraud,  a  cheat!  I  would  not  tell  you  now,  but  you 
trusted  me  and  are  willing  to  entrust  your  son's  future,  your  family 
honor,  in  my  keeping,  and  I  can't  keep  back  the  truth  from  you. 
Mr.  Ryder,  I  am  the  daughter  of  the  man  you  hate!  I  am  the 
woman  your  son  loves.    I  am  Shirley  Rossmore !  " 

Ryder  rose  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"You?   You?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  the  Rossmore  woman!  Listen,  Mr.  Ryder. 
Do  n't  turn  away  from  me.  Go  to  Washington  on  behalf  of  my 
father,  and  I  promise  you  I  will  never  see  your  son  again  —  never, 
never !  '* 

"  No,  no,  I  will  not.  You  have  wormed  yourself  into  my  confi- 
dence by  means  of  lies  and  deceit.  You  have  tricked  me,  fooled 
me  to  the  very  limit!  Oh,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  you  have  beguiled 
my  son  into  the  folly  of  loving  you!  And  you  —  you  have  the 
brazen  effrontery  to  ask  me  to  plead  for  your  father!  No!  No! 
No!  Let  the  law  take  its  course,  and  now.  Miss  Rossmore  —  you 
will  please  leave  my  house  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Yes,  I  will  leave  your  house  to-night.  Do  you  think  I  would 
remain  another  hour  beneath  the  roof  of  the  man  who  is  as  blind 
to  justice,  as  deaf  to  mercy,  as  incapable  of  human  sympathy  as 
you  are !  " 

"  Leave  the  room!  "  shouted  Ryder,  beside  himself,  and  point- 
ing to  the  door. 

"  Father!  "  cried  Jefferson,  starting  forward  to  protect  the  girl 
he  loved. 

''  You  have  tricked  him  as  you  have  me!  " 

*'  It  is  your  own  vanity  that  has  tricked  you !  You  lay  traps 
for  yourself  and  walk  into  them.  You  compel  everyone  around 
you  to  lie  to  you,  to  cajole  you,  to  praise  you,  to  deceive  you!  At 
least,  you  cannot  accuse  me  of  flattering  you !  I  have  never  fawned 
upon  you  as  you  compel  your  family  and  your  friends  and  your 
dependents  to  do.  I  have  ahvays  appealed  to  your  better  nature 
by  telling  you  the  truth,  and,  in  your  heart,  you  know  that  I  am 
speaking  the  truth  now." 

"Go!" 

"  Yes,  let  us  go,  Shirley!  "  said  Jefferson. 


MISCELLANEOUS  539 

"  No,  Jeff,  I  came  here  alone,  and  I  *m  going  alone!  " 

'*  You  are  not.  I  shall  go  with  you.  I  intend  to  make  you 
my  wife !  " 

"  No.  Do  you  think  I  'd  marry  a  man  whose  father  is  as  deep 
a  discredit  to  the  human  race  as  your  father  is!  No,  I  wouldn't 
marry  the  son  of  such  a  merciless  tyrant!  He  refuses  to  lift  his 
voice  to  save  my  father.     I  refuse  to  marry  his  son! 

"  You  think  if  you  lived  in  the  olden  days  you  'd  be  a  Caesar 
or  an  Alexander.  But  you  w^ould  n't !  You  'd  be  a  Nero  —  a 
Nero — .  Sink  my  self-respect  to  the  extent  of  marrying  into  your 
family!  "  she  exclaimed  contemptuously.  "  Never!  I  am  going  to 
Washington  without  your  aid.  I  am  going  to  save  my  father,  if  I 
have  to  go  on  my  knees  to  every  United  States  Senator.  I  '11  go 
to  the  White  House ;  I  '11  tell  the  President  what  you  are !  Marry 
your  son  —  no,  thank  you!  No,  thank  you!  "  And  Shirley  swept 
from  the  room,  leaving  Ryder  speechless,  staring  at  his  son. 

When  she  reached  her  room  she  broke  into  a  fit  of  violent 
sobbing.  She  realized  it  was  too  late  to  leave  the  house  that  night, 
she  must  wait  until  morning. 

In  the  library  a  solitary  figure  paced  to  and  fro  —  to  and  fro  — 
he  was  having  his  first  fight  with  himself.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  John  Ryder  realized  there  was  something  in  the  world  beyond 
self.  He  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  sacrifice  a  daughter  will 
make  for  the  father  she  loves,  and  he  asked  himself  what  manner 
of  a  man  that  father  could  be  to  inspire  such  devotion  in  his  child. 
He  probed  into  his  own  heart  and  conscience  and  reviewed  his 
past  career.  Had  his  insensate  craving  for  gold  and  power  led  him 
to  neglect  those  other  things  in  life  which  contribute  more  truly  to 
man's  happiness? 

Yes,  it  was  true,  what  this  girl  charged, —  he  had  been  merci- 
less and  unscrupulous  in  his  dealings  with  his  fellow-man.  It  was 
true  that  hardly  a  dollar  of  his  vast  fortune  had  been  honestly 
earned.  It  was  true  that  it  had  been  wrung  from  the  people  by 
fraud  and  trickery. 

John  Ryder  pondered  long  and  deeply,  and  the  more  he  rumi- 
nated the  stronger  the  conviction  grew  upon  him  that  the  girl  was 
right  and  he  was  wrong. 

Presently  he  called  the  long  distance  to  Washington,  then  went 
to  Shirley's  room.  She  was  sitting  as  she  had  been,  but  when  she 
heard  the  knock  she  rose,  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  but  when 


540  CHOICE  READINGS 

she  saw  who  it  w^as  all  her  old  hauteur  came  back  —  she  was 
again  the  daughter  fighting  for  her  father  —  even  though  van- 
quished, still  proud.    Coldly  she  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  You  make  it  very  hard  for  me  to  begin  —  I  've  had  Washing- 
ton by  phone  this  morning  —  you  need  n't  worry  any  more  — 
about  your  father." 

**  You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  Washington  and  going  to 
save  my  father  ?  " 

"  Not  for  his  sake  —  for  yours  —  you  are  the  first  living  soul 
that  has  ever  beaten  John  Burkett  Ryder  —  and  still  I  do  n't  feel 
that  I  Ve  been  beaten  so  badly  after  all  —  for  I  always  try  to  get 
the  best  of  everything  for  the  family.  I  still  want  the  best  for  my 
son  —  that 's  why  I  want  you  in  the  family." 

—  Charles  Klein. 


HIGH  TIDE  ON  THE  COAST  OF  LINCOLNSHIRE 

The  old  mayor  climbed  the  belfry  tower, 

The  ringers  run  by  two,  by  three; 
"  Pull!  if  ye  never  pulled  before; 

Good  ringers,  pull  your  best,"  quoth  hee. 
*'  Play  uppe,  play  uppe,  O  Boston  bells! 
Ply  all  your  changes,  all  your  swells ! 

Play  uppe  The  Brides  of  Enderbyl " 

Men  say  it  was  a  "  stolen  tyde," — 
The  Lord  that  sent  it.  He  knows  all, 

But  in  myne  ears  doth  still  abide 
The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall ; 

And  there  was  naught  of  strange,  beside 

The  flights  of  mews  and  peewits  pied, 
By  millions  crouched  on  the  old  sea-wall. 

I  sat  and  spun  within  the  doore; 

My  thread  brake  off,  I  raised  myne  eyes: 
The  level  sun,  like  ruddy  ore. 

Lay  sinking  in  the  barren  skies; 
And  dark  against  day's  golden  death 
She  moved  where  Lindis  wandereth  I  — 
My  Sonne's  faire  wife,  Elizabeth. 


MISCELLANEOUS  541 

*'Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha!  ^'  calling 
Ere  the  early  dews  were  falling, 
Farre  away  I  heard  her  song. 
"Cusha!  Cusha!''  all  along 
Where  the  reedy  Lindis  floweth 

Floweth,  floweth, 
From  the  meads  where  melick  growem, 
Faintly  came  her  milking-song. 

"  Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha!  "  calling, 
"  For  the  dews  will  soone  be  falling ; 
Leave  your  meadow  grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow. 
Quit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow! 
Come  uppe,  Whitefoot!  come  uppe,  LightfootJ 
Quit  the  stalks  of  parsley  hollow. 

Hollow,  hollow! 
Come  uppe,  Jetty!  rise  and  follow; 
From  the  clovers  lift  your  head! 
Come  uppe,  Whitefoot!  come  uppe,  Lightfoot! 
Come  uppe.  Jetty!  rise  and  follow, 
Jetty,  to  the  milking-shed." 

If  it  be  long  —  ay,  long  ago  — 

When  I  beginne  to  think  howe  long, 
Againe  I  hear  the  Lindis  flow. 

Swift  as  an  arrowe,  sharpe  and  strong  ; 
And  all  the  aire,  it  seemeth  mee. 
Bin  full  of  floating  bells  (sayth  shee), 
That  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby, 

Alle  fresh  the  level  pasture  lay. 

And  not  a  shadowe  mote  be  seene, 
Save  where,  full  fyve  good  miles  away. 

The  steeple  towered  from  out  the  greene. 
And  lo!  the  great  belle  farre  and  wide 
Was  heard  in  all  the  country  side 
*rhat  Saturday  at  eventide. 

The  swannerds,  where  their  sedges  are, 
Moved  on  in  sunset's  golden  breath; 
The  shepherde  lads  I  heard  afarre, 


642  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth; 
Till,  floating  o'er  the  grassy  sea. 
Came  downe  that  kyndly  message  free, 
The  Brides  of  Mavis  Enderby. 

Then  some  looked  uppe  into  the  sky. 

And  all  along  where  Lindis  flows 
To  where  the  goodly  vessels  lie, 

And  where  the  lordly  steeple  shows. 
They  sayde,  "  And  why  should  this  thing  be. 
What  danger  lowers  by  land  or  sea? 
They  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby, 

"  For  evil  news  from  Mablethorpe, 

Of  pyrate  galleys,  warping  down, — 
For  shippes  ashore  beyond  the  scorpe. 

They  have  not  spared  to  wake  the  towne; 
But  while  the  west  bin  red  to  see, 
And  storms  be  none,  and  pyrates  flee. 
Why  ring  The  Brides  of  Enderbyf  " 

I  looked  without,  and  lo !  my  sonne 

Came  riding  downe  with  might  and  mfein; 

He  raised  a  shout  as  he  drew  on, 
Till  all  the  welkin  rang  again: 

"Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!" 

(A  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth.) 

"  The  old  sea-wall  "  (he  cried)  '*  is  downe! 

The  rising  tide  comes  on  apace; 
And  boats  adrift  in  yonder  towne 

Go  sailing  uppe  the  market-place !  " 
He  shook  as  one  that  looks  on  death: 
"  God  save  you,  mother !  "  straight  he  sayth ; 
"Where  is  my  v/ife,  Elizabeth?" 

"Good  sonne,  where  Lindis  winds  away 
With  her  two  bairns  I  marked  her  long; 

And  ere  yon  bells  beganne  to  play, 
Afar  I  heard  her  milking-song." 


MISCELLANEOUS  543 

He  looked  across  the  grassy  sea, 
To  right,  to  left.  Ho,  Enderby! 
They  rang  The  Brides  of  Enderby, 

With  that  he  cried  and  beat  his  breast; 

For  lo!  along  the  river's  bed 
A  mighty  eygre  reared  his  crest, 

And  uppe  the  Lindis  raging  sped. 
It  swept  with  thunderous  noises  loud, — 
Shaped  like  a  curling  snow-white  cloud, 
Or  like  a  demon  in  a  shroud. 

And  rearing  Lindis,  backward  pressed, 

Shook  all  her  trembling  bankes  amaine; 
Then  madly  at  the  eygre's  breast 

Flung  uppe  her  weltering  walls  again. 
Then  bankes  came  downe  with  ruin  and  rout, 
Then  beaten  foam  flew  round  about, — 
Then  all  the  mighty  floods  were  out. 

So  farre,  so  fast,  the  eygre  drave. 

The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  beat 
Before  a  shallow  seething  wave 

Sobbed  in  the  grasses  at  oure  feet: 
The  feet  had  hardly  time  to  flee 
Before  it  brake  against  the  knee, — 
And  all  the  world  was  in  the  sea. 

Upon  the  roofe  we  sate  that  night; 

The  noise  of  bells  went  sweeping  by; 
I  marked  the  lofty  beacon  light 

Stream  from  the  church  tower,  red  and  high,— - 
A  lurid  mark,  and  dread  to  see; 
And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  mee, 
That  in  the  dark  rang  Enderby, 

They  rang  the  sailor  lads  to  guide. 

From  roofe  to  roofe  who  fearless  rowed; 

And  I, —  my  sonne  was  at  my  side. 
And  yet  the  ruddy  beacon  glowed; 

And  yet  he  moaned  beneath  his  breath, 

"  O,  come  in  life,  or  come  in  death ! 

O  lost,  my  love,  Elizabeth !  '' 


544  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  didst  thou  visit  him  no  more? 

Thou  didst,  thou  didst,  my  daughter  deare^, 
The  waters  laid  thee  at  his  doore 

Ere  yet  the  early  dawn  was  clear! 
Thy  pretty  bairns  in  fast  embrace, 
The  lifted  sun  shone  on  thy  face, 
Downe  drifted  to  thy  dwelling-place. 

That  flow  strewed  wrecks  about  the  grass, 
That  ebbe  swept  out  the  flocks  to  sea, — 

A  fatal  ebbe  and  flow,  alas ! 

To  manye  more  than  myne  and  mee; 

But  each  will  mourne  his  own  (she  sayth)^ 

And  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  Sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth. 

I  shall  never  hear  her  more 
By  the  reedy  Lindis  shore, 
"Cusha!  Cusha!  Cusha!"  calling, 
Ere  the  early  dews  be  falling; 
I  shall  never  hear  her  song, 
"  Cusha!  Cusha!  "  all  along. 
Where  the  sunny  Lindis  floweth, 

Goeth,  floweth. 
From  the  meads  where  melick  groweth, 
Where  the  water  winding  down. 
Onward  floweth  to  the  town. 
I  shall  never  see  her  more. 
Where  the  reeds  and  rushes  quiver. 

Shiver,  quiver. 
Stand  beside  the  sobbing  river, — 
Sobbing,  throbbing,  in  its  falling 
To  the  sandy  lonesome  shore. 

—  Jean  Ingelow. 


HER  FIRST  APPEARANCE 

It  was  the  first  night  of  "  The  Sultana,"  and  every  member 
of  the  Lester  Comic  Opera  Company,  from  Lester  himself  down 
to  the  wardrobe  woman's  son,  who  would  have  had  to  work  if 
his  mother  lost  her  place,\was  sick  with  anxiety. 


MISCELLANEOUS  545 

As  Van  Bibber  passed  the  stage  door,  Lester  came  off(  the 
stage  and  beckoned  to  him  violently.  "Come  here,"  he  said, 
"you  ought  to  see  this;  the  children  are  doing  their  turn.  You 
want  to  hear  them.     They're  great!  " 

There  were  over  a  dozen  children  before  the  footlights,  with 
the  prima  donna  in  the  center.  They  seemed  entirely  too  much  at 
home  and  too  self-conscious  to  please  Van  Bibber,  but  there  was 
one  exception.  The  one  exception  was  the  smallest  of  them,  a 
very,  very  little  girl,  with  long  auburn  hair  and  black  eyes;  such 
a  very  little  girl  that  every  one  in  the  house  looked  at  her  first, 
and  then  looked  at  no  one  else.  /She  had  big  gentle  eyes  and 
two  wonderful  dimples,  and  in  the  excitement  of  the  dancing 
and  the  singing,  her  eyes  laughed  and  flashed,  and  the  dimples 
deepened  and  disappeared  and  reappeared  again.  She  was  as 
happy  and  innocent  looking  as  though  it  were  nine  in  the  morning 
and  she  were  playing  school  at  some  kindergarten.)  From  all  over 
the  house  the  women  were  murmuring  their  delight,  and  the  men 
were  laughing  and  pulling  their  mustaches,  and  nudging  each  other 
to  "  look  at  the  littlest  one." 

There  was  a  roar  from  the  house  that  went  to  Lester's  head 
like  wine.  There  were  four  encores,  and  then  the  children  came 
off  jubilant  and  happy,  with  the  littlest  girl's  arms  full  of 
flowers. 

Van  Bibber  hunted  up  the  wardrobe  woman,  and  told  her  he 
wanted  to  meet  the  littlest  girl. 

**  This  is  the  little  girl,  sir.  Her  name  is  Madeline.  Speak 
to  the  gentleman,  Madeline;  he  wants  to  tell  j^ou  what  a  great 
big  hit  youse  made." 

The  little  girl  was  seated  on  one  of  the  cushions  of  a  double 
/  throne,  so  high  from  the  ground  that  the  young  woman  who  was 
•  pulling  off  the  child's  silk  stockings  and  putting  woolen  ones  on 
in  their  place  did  so  without  stooping. 

Van  Bibber  took  the  littlest  girl's  small  hand  in  his  and- shook 
it  solemnly  and  said,  ''  I  am  very  glad  to  know  you.  Can  I  sit 
up  here  beside  you,  or  do  you  rule  alone?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am  —  yes,  sir." 

He  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  say  next,  and  yet  he  wanted 
to  talk  to  the  child  very  much.  There  was  a  doll  lying  on  the 
top  of  a  chest  near  them,  and  he  picked  this  up  and  surveyed  if 
critically.    "  Is  this  your  doll?  " 


546  CHOICE  READINGS 

"  No,  It 's  *at  'ittle  durl's;  my  doll  he  's  dead/' 

"Dear  me!"  said  Van  Bibber,  "that's  very  sad.  But  dead 
dolls  do  come  to  life  again." 

But  Madeline  yawned  a  very  polite  and  sleepy  5^awn,  closed 
her  eyes,  and  let  her  curly  head  fall  on  his  elbow  and  rest  there. 

Van  Bibber  was  looking  a  long  way  ahead  at  what  the  future 
was  to  bring  to  the  confiding  little  being  at  his  side,  and  of  the 
€vil  knowledge  and  temptations  that  would  mar  the  beauty  of  her 
quaintly  sweet  face,  and  its  strange  mark  of  gentleness  and 
refinement. 

"Does  she  come  of  professional  people?"  Van  Bibber  asked 
of  the  wardrobe  woman. 

"  Yes." 

"  Are  —  are  you  her  mother  ?  '/ 

*'  No." 

"  Who  is  her  mother?  " 

The  woman  looked  at  the  sleeping  child  and  then  up  at  him, 
^  almost  defiantly.     "  Ida  Clare  was  her  mother." 

Van  Bibber  s  protecting  hand  left  the  child  as  suddenly  as 
though  something  had  burned  it,  and  he  drew  back  so  quickly 
that  her  head  slipped  from  his  arm,  and  she  awoke  and  raised 
her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  him  questioningly.  He  looked  back 
at  her  with  a  glance  of  the  strangest  concern  and  of  the  deepest 
pity.  Then  he  stooped  and  drew  her  towards  him  very  ten- 
derly, put  her  head  back  in  the  corner  of  his  arm,  and  watched 
her  in  silence  while  she  smiled  drowsily  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

"And  who  takes  care  of  her  now?"  he  asked. 

"  I  do,"  she  said.  "  After  the  divorce  Ida  came  to  me ;  I 
used  to  be  in  her  company  when  she  was  doing  *  Aladdin,'  and  then 
when  I  left  the  stage  and  started  to  keep  an  actors'  boarding- 
house,  she  came  to  me.  j  She  lived  on  with  us  a  year,  until  she 
died,  and  she  made  me  the  guardian  of  the  child.  i^I  train  chil- 
dren for  the  stage,  you  know,  me  and  my  sister,  Ada  Dyer. 
You  've  heard  of  her,  I  guess.  I  'm  expecting  to  get  what  I  spent 
on  her  from  what  she  makes  on  the  stage  j  She  's  great,  she  is ; 
she  '11  be  just  as  good  as  her  mother  was." 

Van  Bibber  winced  visibly,  but  turned  it  off  into  a  cough^ 
**  And  her  father, —  does  he  — " 

"  Her  father/'  said  the  woman,  tossing  back  her  head,  "  he 
looks  after  himself,  he  does.     We  do  n't  ask  no  favors  of  him. 


MISCELLANEOUS  547 

She  11  get  along  without  him  or  his  folks,  thank  you.  Call  him  a 
gentleman?  Nice  gentleman  he  is!  But  perhaps  he's  a  friend 
of  y«urn  ?  " 

"  I  just  know  him." 

Van  Bibber  sat  for  several  minutes  thinking,  and  then  looked 
up  quickly,  dropped  his  eyes  again  as  quickly,;  and  said,  with  aa 
effort  to  speak  quietly  and  unconcernedly:,  "If  the  little  girl  is 
not  on  in  this  act,  would  you  mind  if  I  tdok  her  home?  I  have 
a  cab  at  the  stage  door,  and  she  's  so  sleepy  it  seems  a  pity  to  keep 
her  up.  The  sister  you  spoke  of  ot  some  one  could  put  her  to 
bed." 

"  Yes,"  the  woman  said  doubtfully,  "  Ada  's  home.  Yes,  you 
can  take  her  around,  if  you  want  to." 

He  stepped  into  the  cab  at  the  stage  entrance,  and  after  look- 
ing about  to  see  that  no  one  was  near  enough  to  hear  him,  said 
to  the  driver:  "To  the  Berkeley  Flats,  on  Fifth  avenue."  The 
hall-boy  at  the  Berkeley  said.  Yes,  Mr.  Caruthers  was  in,  and 
the  young  English  servant  who  opened  the  hall  door  to  Mr» 
Caruthers'  apartment  watched  Van  Bibber  with  alarm  as  he  laid 
the  child  on  the  divan  in  the  hall,  and  pulled  a  covert  coat  from 
the  rack  to  throw  over  her. 

Mr.  Caruthers  was  standing'  by  the  mantel  over  the  empty 
fireplace,  wrapped  in  a  long,  loose  dressing-gown,  which  he  was 
tying  around  him  as  Van  Bibber  entered. 

"  Excuse  my  costume,  will  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  turned  in 
rather  early  to-night,  it  was  so  hot." 

"  Yes,  it  is  hot.  I  was  at  the  first  night  of  '  The  Sultana  ^ 
this  evening." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Lester's  new  piece.    Was  it  any  good  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know  —  yes,  I  think  it  was.  I  did  n't  see  it  from 
the  front.  There  were  a  lot  of  children  in  it  —  little  ones;  they 
danced  and  sang,  and  made  a  great  hit.  One  of  them  had  never 
been  on  the  stage  before.     It  was  her  first  appearance. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  great  pity  —  I  say,  it  seems  a  pity 
that  a  child  like  that  should  be  allowed  to  go  on  in  that  busi- 
ness.  A  grown  woman  can  go  into  it  with  her  eyes  open,  or  a 
girl  who  has  had  decent  training  can,  too.  But  it 's  different 
with  a  child.  She  has  no  choice  in  the  matter;  they  don't  ask 
her  permission,  and  she  is  n't  old  enough  to  know  what  it  means ; 
and  she  gets  used  to  it  and  fond  of  it  before  she  grows  to  know 


S4I  CHOICE  REABINGS 

what  the  danger  is.  And  then  it  *s  too  late.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
ii  there  was  any  one  who  had  the  right  to  stop  it,  it  would  be  a 
very  good  thing  to  let  that  person  know  about  her  —  about  this 
child,  I  mean;  the  one  who  made  the  hit  —  before  it  was  jtoo 
late.  It  seems  to  me  a  responsibility  I  would  n't  care  to  take 
myself.  I  would  n't  care  to  think  that  I  had  the  chance  to  stogL^^ 
it,  and  had  let  the  chance  go  b5^;  You  know  what  the  life  is  and 
what  the  temptations  a  woman  —  I  mean  we  all  know  —  every 
man  knows." 

Mr.  Caruthers  was  looking  at  him  with  his  lips  pressed  closely 
together,  and  his  eyebrows  drawn  into  the  shape  of  the  letter  Vc 
He  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  Van  Bibber  intently. 

''What  is  all  this  about?  Did  you  come  here,  Mr.  Van 
Bibber,  simply  to  tell  me  this?     W'hy  did  you  come?" 

'^'  Because  of  your  child." 

iYoung  Van  Bibber  was  quite  prepared  for  an  outbreak  of 
some  sort,  and  mentally  braced  himself  to  receive  it.  In  conse- 
quence he  was  quite  unprepared  for  what  followed.  For  Mr. 
Caruthers  raised  his  face  without  a  trace  of  feeling  in  it.  When 
he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  tone  of  quiet  politeness. 

"Mr.  Van  Bibber,  you  are  a  very  brave  young  man.  You 
have  dared  to  say  to  me  what  those  who  are  my  best  friends  — 
what  even  my  own  family  would  not  care  to  say.  i  They  are 
afraid  it  might  hurt  me,  I  suppose.  They  have  some  absurd 
regard  for  my  feelings;  they  hesitate  to  touch  upon  a  subject 
which  in  no  way  concerns  them,  and  which  they  know  must  be 
very  painful  to  me.  But  you  come  here,  unasked  and  uninvited, 
to  let  me  know  what  you  think  of  my  conduct;  to  let  me  under- 
stand that  it  does  not  agree  with  your  own  ideas  of  what  I  ought 
to  do,  and  to  tell  me  how  I,  wh(j>  am  old  enough  to  be  your  father, 
should  behave.  You  have  rushed  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  it;  but  I  have  always  said 
that  it  is  not  the  wicked  people  who  are  to  be  feared  in  this  world, 
or  who  do  the  most  harm.  It  is  the  well-meaning  fool  who  makes 
all  the  trouble.  I  think,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  that  you 
have  demonstrated  my  theory  pretty  thoroughly,  and  have  done 
about  as  much  needless  harm  for  one  evening  as  you  can  possibly 
wish.  And  so,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  ask  to  say  good- 
night, and  will  request  of  you  that  you  grow  older  and  wiser 
-and  much  more  considerate  before  you  come  to  see  me  again." 


MISCELLANEOUS  549 

"  It  IS  very  easy  to  call  a  man  a  fool,  but  it  is  much  harder  to 
be  called  a  fool,  and  not  to  throw  the  other  man  out  of  the  win- 
dow. But  that,  you  see,  would  not  do  any  good,  and  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you  first.  I  am  quite  well  aware  that  I  did 
an  unconventional  thing  in  coming  here  —  a  bold  thing  or  a 
foolish  thing,  as  you  choose  —  but  the  situation  is  pretty  bad,  and 
I  did  as  I  would  have  wished  to  be  done  by  if  I  had  had  a  child 
going  to  the  devil  and  did  n't  know  it.  I  should  have  been  glad 
to  learn  of  it  even  from  a  stranger.  However,  there  are  other 
kindly  disposed  people  in  the  world  besides  fathers.  There  is  an 
aunt  perhaps,  or  an  uncle  or  two;  and  sometimes,  even  to-day, 
there  is  the  chance  Samaritan  —  Good-night." 

"  Wait  just  one  minute,  please,  Mr.  Van  Bibber.  Before  you 
go,  I  want  to  say  —  I  want  you  to  understand  my  position." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right." 

**  No,  it  is  not  all  right.  Since  you  have  done  me  the  honor 
to  make  my  affairs  your  business,  I  would  prefer  that  you  should 
understand  them  fully.  I  do  not  care  to  have  you  discuss  my 
conduct  at  clubs  and  afternoon  teas  with  young  women  until 
you—" 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't  say  that  if  I  were  you." 

^^  I  beg  your  pardon.  That  was  a  mistake.  I  was  wrong. 
I  beg  your  pardon.  But  you  have  tried  me  very  sorely.  You  have 
intruded  upon  a  private  trouble  that  you  ought  to  know  must  be 
very  painful  to  me.  But  I  believe  you  meant  well.  I  know  you 
to  be  a  gentleman,  and  I  am  willing  to  think  you  acted  on 
impulse,  and  that  you  will  see  to-morrow  what  a  mistake  you  have 
made.  It  is  not  a  thing  I  talk  about;  I  do  not  speak  of  it  to  my 
friends,  and  they  are  far  too  considerate  to  speak  of  it  to  me. 
But  you  have  put  me  on  the  defensive:  you  have  made  me  out  more 
or  less  of  a  brute,  and  I  do  n't  intend  to  be  so  far  misunderstood. 
There  are  two  sides  to  every  story,  and  there  is  something  to  be 
said  about  this,  even  for  me.  When  I  married,  I  did  so  against 
the  wishes  of  my  people  and  the  advice  of  all  my  friends.  You 
know  all  about  that.  God  help  us!  who  doesn't?  It  was  very- 
rich,  rare  reading  for  you,  and  for  every  one  else  who  saw  the  daily 
papers,  and  we  gave  them  all  they  wanted  of  it.  I  took  her  out 
of  that  life  and  married  her  because  I  believed  she  was  as  good 
a  woman  as  any  of  those  who  had  never  had  to  work  for  their 
living,  and  I  was  bound  that  my  friends  and  your  friends  should 


i650  CHOICE  READINGS 

recognize  her  and  respect  her  as  my  wife  had  a  right  to  be 
respected;  and  I  took  her  abroad  that  I  might  give  all  you  sen- 
sitive, fine  people  a  chance  to  get  used  to  the  idea  of  being  polite 
to  a  woman  who  had  once  been  a  burlesque  actress.  It  began  over 
there  in  Paris.  She  had  every  chance  when  she  married  me  that 
A  woman  ever  had  —  all  that  a  man's  whole  thought  and  love  and 
money  could  bring  to  her.  And  you  know  what  she  did.  And 
after  the  divorce  —  and  she  was  free  to  go  where  she  pleased, 
and  to  live  as  she  pleased,  and  with  whom  she  pleased, —  I  swore 
to  my  God  that  I  would  never  see  her  nor  her  child  again.  I 
loved  the  mother,  and  she  deceived  me  and  disgraced  me  and  broke 
my  heart,  and  I  only  wish  she  had  killed  me.  Was  I  to  love  and 
worship  and  care  for  this  child,  and  have  her  grow  up  with  ail 
her  mother's  vanity  and  animal  nature,  and  have  her  turn  on  me 
some  day  and  show  me  that  what  is  bred  in  the  bone  must  tell, 
and  that  I  was  a  fool  again  —  a  pitiful  fond  fool?  I  could  not^ 
trust  her;  I  can  never  trust  any  woman  or  child  again,  and  least 
of  alt  that  woman's  child.  She  is  as  dead  to  me  as  though  she 
were  buried  with  her  mother,  and  it  is  nothing  to  me  what  she 
is  or  what  her  life  is.  I  know  in  time  what  it  will  be.  She  has 
begun  earlier  than  I  had  supposed,  that  is  ail ;  but  she  is  nothing  to 
me.  Oh,  I  care  too  much.  I  cannot  let  her  mean  anything  to 
me;  when  I  do  care,  it  means  so  much  more  to  me  than  to  other 
men.  They  may  pretend  to  laugh  and  to  forget  and  to  outgrow 
it,  but  it  is  not  so  with  me.  It  means  too  much.  Why,  man,  I 
loved  that  child's  mother  to  the  day  of  her  death.  I  loved  that 
woman  then,  and,  God  help  me!  I  love  that  woman  still." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  sat  leaning  forward 
and  breathing  heavily  as  he  rocked  himself  to  and  fro.  Van 
Bibber  still  stood  looking  gravely  out  at  the  lights  that  picketed 
the  black  surface  of  the  city.  He  was,  to  all  appearances,  as 
unmoved  by  the  outburst  of  feeling  into  which  the  older  man 
had  been  surprised,  as  though  it  had  been  something  in  a  play. 
There  was  an  unbroken  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  it  was 
Van  Bibber  who  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  came  here  as  you  say,  on  impulse ;  but  I  am  glad  I  came, 
for  I  have  your  decisive  answer  now  about  the  child.  I  have 
been  thinking,  since  you  have  been  speaking,  and  before,  when 
I  saw  her  dancing  in  front  of  the  footlights,  when  I  did  not 
know  who  she  was,  that  I  could  give  up  a  horse  or  two,  if  nee- 


MISCEJLLANEOUS  551 

essary,  and  support  this  child  instead.  Children  are  worth  more 
than  horses.  As  you  say,  it 's  a  good  deal  of  an  experiment,  but 
I  think  1 11  run  the  risk." 

He  walked  quickly  to  the  door  and  disappeared  in  the  hall^ 
and  then  came  back,  kicking  the  door  open  as  he  returned,  and 
holding  the  child  in  his  arms. 

"  This  is  she ;  this  is  your  child.  She  will  need  to  be  fed  a 
bit;  they  did  not  treat  her  very  well,  I  fancy.  She  is  thin  and 
peaked  and  tired  looking.'^  He  drew  up  the  loose  sleeve  of  her 
jacket,  and  showed  the  bare  forearm  to  the  light,  v  It  is  very 
thin,  and  under  her  eyes  you  can  see  how  deep  the  lines  are. 
This  red  spot  on  her  cheek  is  where  the  chorus  girls  kissed  her, 
but  they  will  never  kiss  her  again.  She  is  going  to  grow  up  a 
sweet,  fine,  beautiful  woman  —  are  you  not  ?  She  does  not  look 
like  her  mother;  she  has  her  father's  auburn  hair  and  straight 
nose  and  finer-cut  lips  and  chin.  She  looks  very  much  like  her 
father.  It  seems  a  pity  —  she  will  grow  up  without  knowing 
him,  or  who  he  is  —  or  was,  if  he  should  die.  She  will  never 
speak  with  him,  or  see  him,  or  take  his  hand.  She  may  pass  him 
some  day  on  the  street  and  she  will  not  know  him,  and  he  will  not 
know  her — " 

The  child  in  his  arms  stirred,  shivered  slightly,  and  awoke- 
The  tv/o  men  watched  her  breathlessly,  with  silent  intentness. 
She  raised  her  head  and  stared  around  the  unfamiliar  room 
doubtfully,  then  turned  to  where  her  father  stood,  looking  at  him 
a  moment ;  and  passed  him  by ;  and  then  looking  up  into  Van  Bib- 
ber's face,  recognized  him,  and  gave  a  gentle,  sleepy  smile,  and 
with  a  sigh  of  content  and  confidence,  drew  her  arm  up  closer 
around  his  neck,  and  let  her  head  fall  back  upon  his  breast. 

The  father  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  quick,  jealous  gasp  of 
pain.    "  Give  her  to  me!     She  is  mine;  give  her  to  me!  " 

Van  Bibber  closed  the  door  gently  behind  him,  and  went 
jumping  down  the  winding  stairs  of  the  Berkeley,  three  steps  at 
a  time. 

And  an  hour  later,  when  the  English  servant  came  to  his 
master's  door,  he  found  him  still  awake  and  sitting  in  the  dark 
by  the  open  window,  holding  something  in  his  arms  and  look- 
ing out  over  the  sleeping  city.  "  James,  you  can  make  up  a 
place  for  me  here  on  the  lounge.  Miss  Caruthers,  my  daughter, 
will  sleep  in  my  room  tc-night." 

—  Richard  Hardiiig  Davis. 


552  CHOICE  READINGS 

VIRGINIA 

Ye  good  men  of  the  Commons,  with  loving  hearts  and  true, 
Who  stand  by  the  bold  Tribunes  that  still  have  stood  by  you, 
Come,  make  a  circle  round  me,  and  mark  my  tale  v^ith  care, 
A  tale  of  what  Rome  once  hath  borne,  of  what  Rome  yet  may 

bear. 
This  is  no  Grecian  fable,  of  fountains  running  wine, 
Of  maids  with  snaky  tresses,  or  sailors  turned  to  swine; 
Here,  in  this  very  Forum,  under  the  noonday  sun. 
In  sight  of  all  the  people,  the  bloody  deed  was  done. 
Old  men  still  creep  among  us  who  saw  that  fearful  day. 
Just  seventy  years  and  seven   ago,  when   the  wicked  Ten  bare 

sway. 

Of  all  the  wicked  Ten  still  the  names  are  held  accursed, 

And  of  all  the  wicked  Ten,  Appius  Claudius  was  the  worst. 

He  stalked  along  the  Forum  like  King  Tarquin  in  his  pride: 

Twelve  axes  waited  on  him,  six  marching  on  a  side; 

The  townsmen  shrank  to  right  and  left,  and  eyed  askance  with 

fear 
His  lowering  brow,  his  curling  mouth,  which  always  seemed  to 

sneer. 

Nor  lacks  he  fit  attendance;  for  close  behind  his  heels, 

With  outstretched  chin  and  crouching  pace,  the  client  Marcus 

steals. 
Where'er  ye  shed  the  honey,  the  buzzing  flies  will  crowd ; 
Where'er  ye  fling  the  carrion,  the  raven's  croak  is  loud: 
Where'er  down  Tiber  garbage  floats,  the  greedy  pike  you  see; 
And  wheresoe'er  such  lord  is  found,  such  client  still  will  be. 

Just  then,  as  through  one  cloudless  chink  in  a  black  stormy  sky 
Shines  out  the  dewy  morning  star,  a  fair  young  girl  came  by. 
With  her  small  tablets  in  her  hand,  and  her  satchel  on  her  arm. 
Home  she  went  bounding  from  the  school,  nor  dreamed  of  shame 

or  harm; 
And  past  those  dreaded  axes  she  innocently  ran. 
With  bright,  frank  brow  that  had  not  learned  to  blush  at  gaze  of 

man; 


MISCELLANEOUS  553 

And  up  the  Sacred  Street  she  turned,  and,  as  she  danced  along, 

She  warbled  gaily  to  herself  lines  of  the  good  old  song. 

And  Appius  heard  her  sweet  young  voice,  and  saw  her  sweet 

young  face, 
And  loved  her  with  the  accursed  love  of  his  accursed  race, 
And  all  along  the  Forum,  and  up  the  Sacred  Street, 
His  vulture  eye  pursued  the  trip  of  those  small  glancing  feet. 

She  crossed  the  Forum,  shining  with  stalls  in  alleys  gay. 
And  just  had  reached  the  very  spot  whereon  I  stand  this  day, 
When  up  the  varlet  Marcus  came;  not  such  as  when,  erewhile, 
He  crouched  behind  his  patron's  heels,  with  the  true  client  smile ; 
He  came  with  lowering  forehead,  swollen  features,  and  clenched 

fist, 
And  strode  across  Virginia's  path,  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist. 
Hard   strove    the    frightened   maiden,    and    screamed    with    look 

aghast  ; 
And  at  her  scream,  from  right  and  left,  the  folks  came  running 

fast; 
The  money-changer  Crispus,  with  his  thin  silver  hairs,  • 
And  Hanno  from  the  stately  booth  glittering  with  Punic  wares, 
And  the  strong  smith  Mursena,  grasping  a  half-forged  brand. 
And  Volero,  the  flesher,  his  cleaver  in  his  hand. 
All  came  in  wrath  and  wonder ;  for  all  knew  that  fair  child ; 
And,  as  she  passed  them  twice  a  day,  all  kissed  their  hands  and 

smiled ; 
And  the  strong  smith  Muraena  gave  Marcus  such  a  blow. 
The  caitiff  reeled  three  paces  back,  and  let  the  maiden  go. 
Yet  glared  he  fiercely  round  him,  and  growled  in  harsh,  fell  tone, 
"  She  's  mine,  and  I  will  have  her.    I  seek  but  for  my  own : 
She  is  my  slave,  born  in  my  house,  and  stolen  away  and  sold. 
The  year  of  the  sore  sickness,  ere  she  was  twelve  hours  old. 
I  wait  on  Appius  Claudius;  I  waited  on  his  sire: 
Let  him  who  works  the  client  wrong,  beware  the  patron's  ire!  " 

So  spake  the  varlet  Marcus ;  and  dread  and  silence  came 

On  all  the  people  at  the  sound  of  the  great  Claudian  name. 

Straightway  Virginius  led  his  child  a  little  space  aside. 

To  where  the  reeking  shambles  stood,  piled  up  with  horn  and  hide. 

Hard  by,  a  flesher  on  a  block  had  laid  his  whittle  down : 


554  CHOICE  READINGS 

Virginius  caught  the  whittle  up,  and  hid  it  in  his  gown. 

And  then  his  eyes  grew  very  dim,  and  his  throat  began  to  swell, 

And  in  a  hoarse  changed  voice  he  spake,  ''  Farewell,  sweet  child! 

Farewell ! 
The  house  that  was  the  happiest  within  the  Roman  walls. 
The  house  that  envied  not  the  wealth  of  Capua's  marble  halls, 
Now,  for  the  brightness  of  thy  smile,  must  have  eternal  gloom, 
And  for  the  music  of  thy  voice,  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 

"  The  time  is  come.    See  how  he  points  his  eager  hand  this  way! 
See  how  his  eyes  gloat  on  thy  grief,  like  a  kite's  upon  the  prey! 
With  all  his  wit,  he  little  deems,  that,  spurned,  betrayed,  bereft, 
Thy  father  has  in  his  despair  one  fearful  refuge  left. 
He  little  deems  that  in  this  hand  I  clutch  what  still  can  save 
Thy  gentle  youth  from  taunts  and  blows,  the  portion  of  the  slave ; 
Then  clasp  me  round  the  neck  once  more,  and  give  me  one  more 

kiss  ; 
And  now,  mine  own  dear  little  girl,  there  is  no  way  but  this." 

With  that  he  lifted  high  the  steel,  and  smote  her  in  the  side, 
And  in  her  blood  she  sank  to  earth,  and  with  one  sob  she  died. 
Then  for  a  little  moment  all  people  held  their  breath; 
And  through  the  crowded  Forum  was  stillness  as  of  death ; 
And  in  another  moment  brake  forth  from  one  and  all 
A  cry  as  if  the  Volscians  were  coming  o'er  the  wall. 
Some  with  averted  faces  shrieking  fled  home  amain; 
Some  ran  to  call  a  leech,  and  some  ran  to  lift  the  slain; 
Some  felt  her  lips  and  little  wrist,  if  life  might  there  be  found ; 
And  some  tore  up  their  garments  fast,  and  strove  to  stanch  the 

wound. 
In  vain  they  ran,  and  felt,  and  stanched ;  for  never  truer  blow 
That  good  right  arm  had  dealt  in  fight  against  a  Volscian  foe. 

When  Appius  Claudius  saw  that  deed  he  shuddered  and  sar^k 

down. 
And  hid  his  face  some  little  space,  with  the  corner  of  his  gown, 
Till,  with  white  lips  and  bloodshot  eyes,  Virginius  tottered  nigh, 
And  stood  before  the  judgment-seat,  and  held  the  knife  on  high. 
"  Oh,  dwellers  in  the  nether  gloom,  avengers  of  the  slain. 
By  this  dear  blood  I  cry  to  you,  do  right  between  us  twain; 


MISCELLANEOUS  555 

And  even  as  Appius  Claudius  hath  dealt  by  me  and  mine, 
Deal  you  with  Appius  Claudius  and  all  the  Claudlan  line !  " 
So  spake  the  slayer  of  his  child,  and  turned,  and  went  his  way  ; 
But  first  he  cast  one  haggard  glance  to  where  the  body  lay, 
And  writhed  and  groaned  a  fearful  groan ;  and  then  with  steadfast 

feet, 
Strode  right  across  the  market-place  unto  the  Sacred  Street. 
Then  up  sprang  Appius  Claudius:    ^*  Stop  him;  alive  or  dead! 
Ten  thousand  pounds  of  copper  to  the  man  who  brings  his  head !  '* 
He  looked  upon  his  clients,  but  none  would  work  his  will. 
He  looked  upon  his  lictors,  but  they  trembled  and  stood  still. 
And  as  Virginius  through  the  press  his  way  in  silence  cleft, 
Ever  the  mighty  multitude  fell  back  to  right  and  left, 
And  he  hath  passed  in  safety  into  his  woeful  home, 
And  there  ta'en  horSe  to  tell  the  camp  what  deeds  are  done  in 


Rome. 


■Lord  Ma  caul  ay. 


CUDDLE  DOON 


The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht 

Wi'  muckle  fash  an*  din. 
"Oh,  try  and  sleep,  ye  waukrife  rogues; 

Your  father 's  comin'  in." 
They  never  heed  a  word  I  speak. 

I  try  to  gie  a  f  roon ; 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up,  an'  cry, 

"Oh,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon!" 

Wee  Jamie,  wi'  the  curly  heid  — 

He  aye  sleeps  next  the  wa' — 
Bangs  up  an'  cries,  "  I  want  a  piece  " — 

The  rascal  starts  them  a . 
I  rin  an'  fetch  them  pieces,  drinks  — 

They  stop  awee  the  soun' — 
Then  draw  the  blankets  up,  an'  cry, 

"  Noo,  weanies,  cuddle  doon !  " 


556  CHOICE  READINGS 

But  ere  five  minutes  gang,  wee  Rab 

Cries  oot,  frae  'neath  the  claes, 
"  Mither,  mak'  Tarn  gie  ower  at  once; 

He  's  kittlin'  wi'  his  taes." 
The  mischief  's  in  that  Tam  for  tricks  ; 

He  'd  bother  half  the  toon. 
But  aye  I  hap  them  up,  an*  cry, 

"Oh,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon!  " 

At  length  they  hear  their  father's  fit; 

An',  as  he  steeks  the  door, 
They  turn  their  faces  to  the  wa'. 

While  Tam  pretends  to  snore. 
"  Hae  a'  the  weans  been  gude  ?  "  he  asks^ 

As  he  pits  aff  his  shoon. 
'*  The  bairnies,  John,  are  in  their  beds, 

An'  lang  since  cuddled  doon." 

An'  just  afore  we  bed  oorsels, 

We  look  at  oor  wee  lambs. 
Tam  has  his  airm  roun'  wee  Rab's  neck, 

An'  Rab  his  airm  roun'  Tam's. 
I  lift  wee  Jamie  up  the  bed, 

An'  as  I  straik  each  croon, 
I  whisper,  till  my  heart  fills  up, 

"Oh,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon!" 

The  bairnies  cuddle  doon  at  nicht 

Wi'  mirth  that's  dear  to  me; 
But  soon  the  big  warl's  cark  an'  care 

Will  quaten  doon  their  glee. 
Yet,  come  what  will  to  ilka  ane. 

May  He  who  sits  aboon 
Aye  whisper,  though  their  pows  be  bauld, 

"  Oh,  bairnies,  cuddle  doon !  " 

—  Alexander  Anderson, 


MISCELLANEOUS  561 

FITZ-JAMES  AND  RODERICK  DHU 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep, 
The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 
Here  Vennacher  in  silver  flows, 
There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose; 
Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on 
Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone; 
An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 
With  hardihood  against  an  host. 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace. 

Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws. 

And  asked  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 

He  sought  these  wilds?  traversed  by  few^, 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why ! 

Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fixed  cause, 

As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws? 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride: 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 

In  peace;  but  when  I  come  again, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 

As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

For  love-lorn  swain,  in  lady's  bower. 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

This  rebel  Chieftain  and  his  band.*' 

*'  Have,  then,  thy  wish!  "  He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlieu, 
From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 
Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 
Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows; 
On  right,  on  left,  above,  below. 
Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe; 


558  CHOICE  READINGS 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 

The  bracken-bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife. 

That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

Like  the  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass. 

As  if  the  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-James:    ''  How  say'st  thou  nowt 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true ; 

And,  Saxon, —  I  am  Roderick  Dhu !  " 

Fitz-James  was  brave:  —  though  to  his  heaiii 

The  life-blood  thrilled  with  sudden  start, 

He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air, 

Returned  the  Chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before: 

**  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  L'** 

Sir  Roderick  marked  —  and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood  —  then  waved  his  hand^ 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band; 

Each  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood. 


MISCELLANEOUS  559 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood; 
Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 
In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low; 
It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  Earth 
Had  swallowed  up  their  warlike  birth. 

Fitz- James  looked  round  —  yet  scarce  believed 

The  witness  that  his  sight  received; 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 

Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed. 

And  to  his  look  the  Chief  replied, 

"  Fear  nought  —  nay,  that  I  need  not  say  — 

But  —  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Thou  art  my  guest ;  I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford: 

Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand, 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 

Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael. 

So  move  we  on;  I  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu.'* 

The  chief  in  silence  strode  before. 
And  reached  the  torrent's  sounding  shore, 
And  here  his  course  the  Chieftain  staid, 
Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid. 
And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said :  — 
''Bold  Saxon!  to  his  promise  just, 
Vich-Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 
This  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man. 
This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan. 
Hath  led  thee  safe  through  watch  and  ward, 
Far  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard. 
Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 
A  Chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 
See,  here  all  vantagelcss  I  stand. 
Armed,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand; 


660  CHOICE  READINGS 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 


The  Saxon  paused :    *'  I  ne*er  delayed, 

When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade; 

Nay,  more,  brave  Chief,  I  vowed  thy  death; 

Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith. 

And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 

A  better  meed  have  well  deserved: 

Can  naught  but  blood  our  feud  atone? 

Are  there  no  means?  "    ''  No,  Stranger,  none! 

And  here  —  to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal  — 

The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel; 

For  thus  spoke  Fate  by  prophet  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead; 

*  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife/  '* 

"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  The  riddle  is  already  read : 
Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff, — 
There  lies  Red  Murdock,  stark  and  stiff. 
Thus  fate  hath  solved  her  prophecy; 
Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me." 

Dark  lightning  flashed  from  Roderick's  eye  — 

"  Soars  thy  presumption  then  so  high, 

Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 

Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu? 

He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate! 

Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate: 

My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge, — 

Not  yet  prepared?    By  heaven,   I  change 

My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valor  light 

As  that  of  some  vain  carpet-knight. 

Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 

And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 

A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair." 

"  I  thank  thee,  Roderick^  for  the  word ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  561 

It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,  begone !  " 

Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  looked  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again: 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed. 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed. 
Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw, 
Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull  hide 
Had  death  so  often  dashed  aside; 
For  trained  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz- James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 
He  practiced  every  pass  and  ward, 
To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard; 
While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far. 
The  Gael  maintained  unequal  war. 
Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood. 
And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood; 
No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide, 
The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 
And  showered  his  blows  h*ke  wintry  rain; 
And  as  firm  rock,  or  castle  roof. 
Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof. 
The  foe,  invulnerable  still. 
Foiled  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill. 
Till  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 
Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand ; 
And  backward  borne  upon  the  lea. 
Brought  the  proud  Chieftain  to  his  knee. 
"  Now,  yield  thee,  or,  by  Him  who  made 
The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade!  *' 

"  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy! 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die."  — 


562  CHOICE  READINGS^ 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil, 
Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz- James's  throat  he  sprung; 
Received,  but  recked  not  of  a  wound, 
And  locked  his  arms  his  foeman  round. 
They  tug,  they  strain!  —  down,  down  they  go, 
The  Gael  above,  Fitz- James  below. 
The  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compressed. 
His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast; 
His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw. 
Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 
From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight. 
Then  gleamed  aloft  his  dagger  bright ! 
But,  while  the  dagger  gleamed  on  high, 
Reeled  soul  and  sense,  reeled  brain  and  eye. 
Down  came  the  blow !  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breathless  all,  Fitz- James  arose. 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  BOWER  SCENE  FROM  "  BECKET  " 
Characters: 

Rosamund  de  Clifford,  the  real  love  of  Henry  II    of  England. 

Geoffrey,  son  of  Rosamund  and  Henry. 

Eleanor,  Queen  of  England. 

Thomas  Becket,  Chancellor  of  England. 

Sir  Reginald  Fitzurse,  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Rosamund,  and  enemy  to 
Becket. 

Scene:  Rosamund's  bower.  This  place  was  built  by  Henry  in  a 
garden  called  "  Labyrinthus,"  so  that  no  one  might  approach  Rosamund. 
Eleanor,  however,  induces  Geoffrey  to  pilot  her  to  the  hiding-place,  and 
comes  to  wreak  vengeance  on  Rosamund. 

Rosamund,  The  boy  is  so  late;  pray  God,  he  be  not  lost. 
[Enter  Geoffrey  and  Eleanor.] 
Geoffrey,  the  pain  thou  hast  put  me  to! 

[Seeing  Eleanor.]    Ha,  you! 
How  came  you  hither? 


MISCELLANEOUS  583 

Eleanor,  Your  own  child  brought  me  hither! 

Ros,  How  dared  you?    Know  you  not  this  bower  is  secret, 
Of  and  belonging  to  the  King  of  England, 
More  sacred  than  his  forests  for  the  chase  ? 
Nay,  nay,  Heaven  help  you !   Get  you  hence  in  haste 
Lest  worse  befall  you. 

EL  Child,  I  am  mine  own  self 
Of  and  belonging  to  the  King.  The  King 
Hath  divers  ofs  and  ons,  ofs  and  belongings, 
Whom  it  pleases  him 

To  call  his  wives;  but  so  it  chances,  child. 
That  I  am  his  sultana. 
Do  you  believe  that  you  are  married  to  him? 

Ros,  I  should  believe  it. 

El,  You  must  not  believe  it, 
Because  I  have  a  wholesome  medicine  here 
Puts  that  belief  asleep.   Your  answer,  beauty! 
Do  you  believe  that  you  are  married  to  him? 

Ros,  Geoffrey,  my  boy,  I  saw  the  ball  you  lost  in  the  fork  of 
the  great  willow  over  the  brook.  Go.  See  that  you  do  not  fall  in. 
Go.  [^Exit  Geoffrey.] 

El,  He  is  easily  found  again.  Do  you  believe  it? 
I  pray  you,  then,  to  take  my  sleeping-draught; 
But  if  you  should  not  care  to  take  it  —  see!    [Draws  a  dagger.] 
What !  have  I  scared  the  red  rose  from  your  face 
Into  your  heart?   But  this  will  find  it  there. 
And  dig  it  from  the  root  forever. 

Ros,  I  do  beseech  you  —  my  child  is  so  young, 
So  backward,  too;  I  cannot  leave  him  yet. 
I  am  not  so  happy  I  could  not  die  myself. 
But  the  child  is  so  young.     You  have  children  —  his ; 
And  mine  is  the  King's  child;  so,  if  you  love  him  — 
Nay,  if  you  love  him,  there  is  great  wrong  done 
Somehow ;  but  if  you  do  not  —  there  are  those 
Who  say  you  do  not  love  him  —  let  me  go 
With  my  young  boy,  and  I  will  hide  my  face. 
Blacken  and  gipsyfy  it ;  none  shall  know  me ; 
The  King  shall  never  hear  of  me  again, 
But  I  will  beg  my  bread  along  the  world 
With  my  young  boy,  and  God  will  be  our  guide. 


564  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  never  meant  you  harm  in  any  way. 
Sec,  I  can  say  no  more. 

EL  Will  you  not  say  you  are  not  married  to  him? 

Ros,  Ay,  madam,  I  can  say  it,  if  you  will. 

EL  Then  thou  art  a  proven  wanton? 

Ros.  No, 

I  am  none  such.   I  never  loved  but  one. 
I  have  heard  of  such  that  range  from  love  to  love, 
Like  the  wild  beast  —  if  you  can  call  it  love. 
I  have  heard  of  such  —  yea,  even  among  those 
Who  sit  on  thrones  —  I  never  saw  any  such. 
Never  knew  any  such,  and  howsoever 
You  do  misname  me,  match'd  with  any  such, 
I  am  snow  to  mud. 

EL  The  more  the  pity  then 

That  thy  true  home  —  the  heavens  —  cry  out  for  thee 
Who  art  too  pure  for  earth. 

{Enter  FiTZURSE.] 

Fitzurse,  Give  her  to  me. 

EL  The  Judas-lover  of  our  passion-play 
Hath  track'd  us  hither. 

Fitz.  Well,  why  not?   I  followed 
You  and  the  child ;  he  babbled  all  the  way. 
Give  her  to  me  to  make  my  honeymoon. 
Come  to  me,  love,  / 

And  I  will  love  thee.    Madam»  let  her  live ; 
I  have  a  far-off  burrow  where  the  King 
Would  miss  her  and  forever. 

EL  How  sayst  thou,  sweetheart? 
Wilt  thou  go  with  him?  He  will  marry  thee. 

Ros,  Give  me  the  poison;  set  me  free  of  him! 
[Eleanor  offers  the  viaL'\ 
No,  no!   I  will  not  have  it. 

EL  Then  this  other, 

The  wiser  choice,  because  my  sleeping-draught 
May  bloat  thy  beauty  out  of  shape,  and  make 
Thy  body  loathsome  even  to  thy  child  ; 
While  this  but  leaves  thee  with  a  broken  heart, 
A  doll-face  blanch'd  and  bloodless,  over  which. 
If  pretty  Geoffrey  do  not  break  his  own, 


MISCELLANEOUS  565 

It  must  be  broken  for  him. 

Ros.  O  I  see  now 

Your  purpose  is  to  fright  me  —  a  troubadour, 
You  play  with  words.   You  had  never  used  so  many, 
Not  if  you  meant  ity  I  am  sure.  The  child  — 
No  —  mercy !   No ! 

EL  Play!  That  bosom  never 
Heaved  under  the  King's  hand  with  such  true  passion 
As  at  this  loveless  knife  that  stirs  the  riot, 
Which  it  will  quench  in  blood !    Slave,  if  he  love  thee 
Thy  life  is  worth  the  wrestle  for  it.   Arise, 
And  dash  thyself  against  me  that  I  may  slay  thee! 
The  worm;  shall  I  let  her  go?    But  ha!  what 's  here? 
By  very  God,  the  cross  I  gave  the  King! 
His  village  darling  in  some  sly  caress 
Has  wheedled  it  off  the  King's  neck  to  her  own. 
By  thy  leave,  beauty.   Ay,  the  same !    I  warrant 
Thou  hast  sworn  on  this,  my  cross,  a  hundred  times 
Never  to  leave  him  —  and  that  merits  death, 
False  oath  on  holy  cross  —  for  thou  must  leave  him 
To-day,  but  not  quite  yet.   My  good  Fitzurse, 
The  running  down  the  chase  is  kindlier  sport 
Ev'n  than  the  death.    Who  knows  but  that  thy  lover 
May  plead  so  pitifully,  that  I  may  spare  thee? 
Come  hither,  man;  stand  there.    [To  Rosamund.]    Take  thy  one 

chance ; 
Catch  at  the  last  straw.   Kneel  to  thy  lord  Fitzurse ; 
Crouch  even  because  thou  hatest  him;  fawn  upon  him 
For  thy  life  and  thy  son's. 

Ros.   [rising],  I  am  a  Clifford, 

My  son  a  Clifford  and  Plantagenet. 
I  am  to  die,  then,  tho'  there  stand  beside  thee 
One  who  might  grapple  with  thy  dagger,  if  he 
Had  aught  of  man,  or  thou  of  woman;  or  I 
Would  bow  to  such  baseness  as  would  make  me 
Most  worthy  of  it;  both  of  us  will  die. 
And  I  will  fly  with  my  sweet  boy  to  heaven. 
And  shriek  to  all  the  saints  among  the  stars: 
"  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  Eleanor  of  England ! 
Mtrrdered  by  that  adulteress,  Eleanor, 


D(i6  CHOICE  READINGS 

Whose  doings  are  a  horror  to  the  east, 
A  hissing  in  the  west !  "    Strike ! 
I  challenge  thee  to  meet  me  before  God. 
Answer  me  there. 

EL   [praising  the  dagger. ~\    This  in  thy  bosom^  fool! 

\^Enter  Becket  from  behind.    Catches  hold  of  her  arm.] 

Becket.  Murderess! 
[The  dagger  falls;  they  stare  at  one  another.     After  a  pause f}^ 

El.  My  lord,  we  know  you  proud  of  your  fine  hand, 
But  having  now  admired  it  long  enough. 
We  find  that  it  is  mightier  than  it  seems  — 
At  least  mine  own  is  frailer  —  you  are  laming  it. 

Becket.  And  lamed  and  maim'd  to  dislocation,  better 
Than  raised  to  take  a  life  which  Henry  bade  me 
Guard  from  the  stroke  that  dooms  thee  after  death 
To  wail  in  deathless  flame.     [To  Rosamund.] 
Daughter,  the  world  hath  trick 'd  thee. 

Leave  it,  daughter. 
Come  thou  with  me  to  Godstow  nunnery. 
And  live  what  may  be  left  thee  of  a  life 
Saved  as  by  miracle  alone  with  Him 
Who  gave  it. 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


COLUMBUS 


Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 

Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules; 
Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores. 

Before   him   only   shoreless   seas. 
The  good  mate  said :   "  Now  must  we  pray, 

For  lo!  the  very  stars  are  gone. 
Speak.  Admiral,  what  shall  I  say?" 

"  Why  say,  *  Sail  on !  sail  on !  and  on ! '  '* 

"  My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day ; 

My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home;  a  spray 

Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 


MISCELLANEOUS  567 

"What  shall  I  say,  brave  Admiral,  say, 

If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?  '* 
"  Why,  you  shall  say  at  break  of  day, 

^  Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !  and  on ! ' '' 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow 

Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said: 
"  Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 

Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 
These  very  winds  forget  their  way. 

For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 
Now  speak,  brave  Admiral,  speak  and  say — ** 

He  said:    "Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!" 

They  sailed.   They  sailed.   Then  spoke  the  mate: 

''  This  mad  sea  shows  its  teeth  to-night. 
He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait. 

With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite! 
Brave  Admiral,  say  but  one  good  word: 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone  ?  " 
The  words  leapt  as  a  leaping  sword: 

**  Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !  and  on !  *' 

Then,  pale  and  worn,  he  kept  his  deck. 

And  peered  through  darkness.    Ah,  that  night 
Of  all  dark  nights!   And  then  a  speck  — 

Alight!    Alight!    Alight!    Alight! 
It  grew,  a  starlit  flag  unfurled! 

It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn. 
He  gained  a  world ;  he  gave  that  world 

Its  grandest  lesson:    "On  and  on!** 

—  Joaquin  Miller, 


LORRAINE 


"  Are  you  ready  for  your  steeplechase,  Lorraine,  Lorraine,  Lorree? 
You  *re  booked  to  ride  your  capping  race  to-day  at  Coulterlee, 
You  're  booked  to  ride  Vindictive,  for  all  the  world  to  see. 
To  keep  him  straight,  and  keep  him  first,  and  win  the  run  for  me.*' 


568  CHOICE  READINGS 

She  clasped  her  new-born  baby,  poor  Lorraine,  Lorraine,  Lorree. 
**  I  cannot  ride  Vindictive,  as  any  man  might  see. 
And  I  will  not  ride  Vindictive,  with  this  baby  on  my  knee; 
He  's  killed  a  boy,  he  's  killed  a  man,  and  why  must  he  kill  me  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  ride  Vindictive,  Lorraine,  Lorraine,  Lorree, 
Unless  you  ride  Vindictive  to-day  at  Coulterlee, 
And  land  him  safe  across  the  brook,  and  win  the  blank  for  me, 
It 's  you  may  keep  your  baby,  for  you  11  get  no  keep  from  me." 

"  That  husbands  could  be  cruel,**  said  Lorraine,  Lorraine,  Lorree, 
*'  That  husbands  could  be  cruel,  I  have  known  for  seasons  three  ; 
But  oh!  to  ride  Vindictive  while  a  baby  cries  for  me. 
And  be  killed  across  a  fence  at  last,  for  all  the  world  to  see  ?  ** 

She  mastered  young  Vindictive  —  oh !  the  gallant  lass  was  she !  — 
And  she  kept  him  straight,  and  won  the  race,  as  near  as  near 

could  be; 
But  he  killed  her  at  the  brook  against  a  pollard  willow  tree, 
Oh !  he  killed  her  at  the  brook  —  the  brute !  —  for  all  the  world 

to  see, 
And  no  one  but  the  baby  cried  for  poor  Lorraine,  Lorree. 

—  Charles  Kingsley, 


LADY  CLARA  VERE  DE  VERE 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Of  me  you  shall  not  win  renown: 
You  thought  to  break  a  country  heart 

For  pastime,  ere  you  went  to  town. 
At  me  you  smiled,  but  unbeguiled 

I  saw  the  snare,  and  I  retired: 
The  daughter  of  a  hundred  earls, 

You  are  not  one  to  be  desired. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

I  know  you  proud  to  bear  your  name, 
Your  pride  is  yet  no  mate  for  mine. 

Too  proud  to  care  from  whence  I  came. 


MISCELLANEOUS  569 

Nor  would  I  break  for  your  sweet  sake 

A  heart  that  dotes  on  truer  charms, 
A  simple  maiden  in  her  flower 

Is  worth  a  hundred  coats-of-arms. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Some  meeker  pupil  you  must  find, 
For  were  you  queen  of  all  that  is, 

I  could  not  stoop  to  such  a  mind. 
You  sought  to  prove  how  I  could  love, 

And  my  disdain  is  my  reply. 
The  lion  on  your  old  stone  gates 

Is  not  more  cold  to  you  than  I. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

You  put  strange  memories  in  my  head. 
Not  thrice  your  branching  limes  have  blown 

Since  I  beheld  young  Laurence  dead. 
Oh!  your  sweet  eyes,  your  low  replies; 

A  great  enchantress  you  may  be; 
But  there  was  that  across  his  throat 

Which  you  had  hardly  cared  to  see. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

When  thus  he  met  his  mother's  view. 
She  had  the  passions  of  her  kind. 

She  spake  some  certain  truths  of  you. 
Indeed,  I  heard  one  bitter  word 

That  scarce  is  fit  for  you  to  hear; 
Her  manners  had  not  that  repose 

Which  stamps  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

There  stands  a  specter  in  your  hall: 
The  guilt  of  blood  is  at  your  door: 

You  changed  a  wholesome  heart  to  galL 
You  held  your  course  without  remorse, 

To  make  him  trust  his  modest  worth, 
And,  last,  you  fixed  a  vacant  stare, 

And  slew  him  with  your  noble  birth. 


gyo  CHOICE  READINGS 

Trust  m«,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

From  yon  blue  heavens  above  us  bent 
The  grand  old  gardener  and  his  w^ife 

Smile  at  the  claims  of  long  descent. 
Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'T  is  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 

I  know  you,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere: 

You  pine  among  your  halls  and  towers: 
The  languid  light  of  your  proud  eyes 

Is  wearied  of  the  rolling  hours. 
In  glowing  health,  with  boundless  wealth, 

But  sickening  of  a  vague  disease, 
You  know  so  ill  to  deal  with  time. 

You  needs  must  play  such  pranks  as  these. 

Clara,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

If  time  be  heavy  on  your  hands, 
Are  there  no  beggars  at  your  gate. 

Nor  any  poor  about  your  lands  ? 
Oh!  teach  the  orphan  boy  to  read. 

Or  teach  the  orphan  girl  to  sew. 
Pray  Heaven  for  a  human  heart. 

And  let  the  foolish  yeoman  go. 

—  Lord  Tennyson. 


THE  RAVEN 


Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  we*^, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore, — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping. 
As  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door^ 
"  'T  IS  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Only  this  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly,  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 

And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 

Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow:  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 


MISCELLANEOUS  571 

From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore 

For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Nameless  here  forevermore. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating, 
"  'T  is  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door, — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door; 
That  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
''Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore; 
But  the  fact  is,  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  " —  here  I  opened  wide  the 
door: 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,  wondering, 

fearing, 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And    the    only    word    there    spoken    was    the    whispered    word, 

"Lenore!" 
This    I    whispered,    and    an    echo    murmured    back    the    word, 

"Lenore!" 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping,  something  louder  than  before. 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window-lattice, 
Let  me  see  then  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 
'T  is  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a^  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door, — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door — < 
Perched  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 


572  CHOICE  READINGS 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fanqr  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,''  I  said,  ''  art  sure 

no  craven; 
Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  raven,  wandering  from  the  nightly 

shore. 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore." 
Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore!  " 

Much  I  marveled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly. 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore ; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door. 
With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  raven  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Not^iing    further    then    he    uttered  —  not    a    feather    then    he 

fluttered  — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other  friends  have  flown 

before  — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown  before." 
Then  the  bird  said,  "  Nevermore !  " 

Startled  at  the  stillness,  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
*'  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master,  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore, — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore. 
Of  —  Never  —  nevermore !  " 

But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and  bust, 

and  door. 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore — • 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of 

yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "Nevermore!" 


MISCELLANEOUS  578 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl,  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core, 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamplight  gloated  o'er. 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,  with  the  lamplight  gloating  o'er, 
She  shall  press  —  ah!  nevermore! 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer         ,   '    , 
Swung  by  seraphim,  whose  footfalls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"  Wretch,"  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —  by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee      ^  , 
Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore  I 
Quaff,  oh,  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore!  " 
Quoth  the  raven,  *'  Nevermore !  " 

"  Prophet !  '*  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or 

devil ! 
Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate,  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  implore  — 
Is    there  —  is    there    balm    in    Gilead  ?  —  tell    me  —  tell    me,    I 

implore !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  '*  Nevermore !  " 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil!  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or 

devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we  both  adore. 
Tell  this  soul,  with  sorrow  laden,  if,  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  ; 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore!  " 
Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore!" 

"Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend!"  I  shrieked, 

upstarting  — 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken !  —  quit  the  bust  above  my  door ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 

looi-!" 

Quoth  the  raven,   "  Nevermore! " 


574  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreamiag, 
And  the  lamplight  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor  ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore  ! 

—  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 
I 

Tell  you  what  I  like  the  best  — 
*Long  about  knee-deep  in  June, 
'Bout  the  time  strawberries  melts 
On  the  vine  —  some  afternoon 
Like  to  jes'  git  out  and  rest. 
And  not  work  at  nothin'  else ! 

II 

Orchard  's  where  I  'd  ruther  be  — 
Need  n't  fence  it  in  f er  me !  — 
Jes'  the  whole  sky  overhead. 
And  the  whole  earth  underneath  — 
Sort  o'  so  's  a  man  kin  breathe 
Like  he  ort,  and  kind  o'  has 
Elbow-room  to  keerlessly 
Sprawl  out  len'thways  on  the  grass, 
Where  the  shadders  thick  and  soft 
As  the  kiwers  on  the  bed 
Mother  fixes  in  the  loft 
Alius,  when  they  's  company! 

Ill 

Jes'  a  sort  o'  lazin'  there  — 

S'  lazy  'at  you  peek  and  peer 

Through  the  wavin'  leaves  above 

Like  a  feller  'at 's  in  love, 

And  don't  know  it,  ner  don't  keer! 


MISCELLANEOUS  SV» 

Everything  you  hear  and  see 
Got  some  sort  o'  interest  — 
Maybe  find  a  bluebird's  nest 
Tucked  up  there  conveenently 
Fer  the  boys  'at 's  apt  to  be 
Up  some  other  apple-tree! 
Watch  the  swallers  skootin'  past  — 
'Bout  as  peert  as  you  could  ast; 
'Er  the  Bobwhite  raise  and  whiz 
Where  some  other's  whistle  is. 

IV 

Ketch  a  shadder  down  below, 
And  look  up  to  find  the  crow; 
Er  a  hawk  away  up  there, 
Tearantly  froze  in  the  air!  — 
Hear  the  old  hen  squawk  and  squat, 
Over  every  chick  she  's  got, 
Suddent-like !  —  And  she  knows  where 
That  air  hawk  is,  well  as  you! 
You  jes'  bet  your  life  she  do!  — 
Eyes  a-glitterin'  like  glass, 
Waitin'  till  he  makes  a  pass! 

V 

Pee-wees'  singin',  to  express 
My  opinion  's  second  class ; 
Yit  you  '11  hear  'em  more  er  less ; 
Sapsucks  gettin'  down  to  biz, 
Weedin'  out  the  lonesomeness ; 
Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 
In  them  baseball  clothes  o'  his, 
Sportin'  round  the  orchard  jes' 
Like  he  owned  the  premises ! 
Sun  out  there  in  the  fields  kin  sizz, 
But  flat  on  your  back,  I  guess, 
In  the  shade 's  where  glory  is! 
That 's  jes'  what  I  'd  like  to  do 
Stiddy  fer  a  year  er  two ! 


§1«  CHOICE  READINGS 

VI 

Plague  if  they  ain^t  sompin*  in 
Work  'at  kind  o'  goes  agin 
My  convictions! — 'long  about 
Here  in  June  especially !  — 
Under  some  old  apple-tree, 
Jes'  a-restin'  through  and  through, 
I  could  git  along  without 
Nothin'  else  at  all  to  do, 
Only  jes*  a-wishin'  you 
Was  a-gittin'  there  like  me, 
And  June  was  eternity! 

VII 

Lay  out  there  and  try  to  see 

Jes*  how  lazy  you  kin  be! 

Tumble  round  and  souse  your  head 

In  the  clover-bloom,  er  pull 

Yer  straw  hat  acrost  yer  eyes. 

And  peak  through  it  at  the  skies, 

Thinkin'  of  old  chums  'at 's  dead, 

Maybe,  smilin'  back  at  you 

In  betwixt  the  beautiful 

Clouds  o'  gold  and  white  and  blue!  — 

Month  a  man  kin  railly  love  — 

June,  you  know,  I  'm  talkin'  of ! 

VIII 
March  ain't  never  nothin'  new !  — 
Aprile  's  altogether  too 
Brash  fer  me!  and  May  —  I  jes* 
'Bominate  its  promises, — 
Little  hints  o'  sunshine  and 
Green  around  the  timber-land  — 
A  few  blossoms,  and  a  few 
Chip-birds,  and  a  sprout  or  two  — 
Drap  asleep,  and  it  turns  in 
'Fore  daylight  and  snows  agin !  — 
But  when  June  comes  —  Clear  my  throat 
With  wild  honey!    Rench  my  hair 


MISCELLANEOUS  577 

In  the  dew!  and  hold  my  coat! 
Whoop  out  loud !  and  throw  my  hat !  — 
June  wants  me,  and  I  'm  to  spare ! 
Spread  them  shadders  anywhere, 
I  '11  git  down  and  waller  there, 
And  obleeged  to  you  at  that! 

—  James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


RING  OUT,  WILD  BELLS! 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light; 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, — 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow; 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor. 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause. 

And  ancient  forms  of  paltry  strife; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin. 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times; 
Ring  out,  ring  out  my  mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood, 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite; 
Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right. 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 


578  CHOICE  READINGS 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease, 
Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold, 
Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old ; 

Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man,  and  free, 
The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land  ; 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

—  Lord  TennysOiH. 


THE  RESURRECTION 

It  was  our  Sabbath  eve.    By  set  of  sun 

Arimathean  Joseph  craved,  and  gained 

The  grace  to  lay  Him  in  his  sepulcher. 

Then,  while  the  first  day  of  the  week  was  dark, 

Alone  I  wended  to  His  sepulcher, 

Bearing  fair  water,  and  the  frankincense, 

And  linen,  that  my  Lord's  sweet  body  sleep 

Well  in  the  rock.   And,  while  my  woeful  feet 

Passed  through  the  gate,  and  up  the  paved  ascent 

Along  the  Second  Wall,  over  the  Hill, 

Into  that  Garden,  hard  by  Golgotha, 

The  morning  brightened  over  Moab's  peaks, 

Touched  the  great  Temple's  dome  with  crimson  fires, 

Lit  Ophel  and  Moriah  rosy-red, 

Made  Olivet  all  gold,  and,  in  the  pools 

In  Hinnom,  laid  a  sudden  lance  of  flame; 

And  from  the  thorn-trees,  brake  the  waking  songs 

Of  little  birds ;  and  every  palm-tree's  top 

Was  full  of  doves  that  cooed,  as  knowing  not 

How  Love  was  dead,  and  Life's  dear  glory  gone. 

And  the  World's  hope  lay  in  the  tomb  with  Him; 

Which  now  I  spied  —  that  hollow  in  the  rock 

Under  the  camphire  leaves.    Yet,  no  guards  there 

To  help  me  roll  the  stone!    Nay,  and  no  stone! 

It  lay  apart,  leaving  the  door  a-gape, 

And  through  the  door,  as  I  might  dimly  see, 


MISCELLANEOUS  579 

The  scattered  wrappings  of  the  burial  night, 

Pale  gleams  amidst  the  gloom.   Not  waiting,  then, 

Deeming  our  treasure   taken   wickedly  — 

I  sped ;  and  came  to  Peter,  and  to  John, 

And  cried :    "  Our  Lord  is  stolen  from  His  grave, 

And  none  to  tell  where  He  is  borne  away !  " 

Thereat,  they  ran  together,  came,  and  saw; 

And  entered  in ;  and  found  the  linen  cloths 

Scattered;  the  rock-bed  empty;  and,  amazed. 

Back  to  their  house  they  went.    But  I  drew  nigh 

A  second  time,  alone;  heart-broken  now. 

The  bright  day  seeming  blackest  night  to  me. 

The  small  birds  mockers,  and  the  City's  noise  — 

Waking  within  the  walls  —  hateful  and  vain. 

Why  should  Earth  wake,  the  Son  of  Man  asleep  ? 

Or  that  great  guilty  City  rise  and  live. 

With  this  dear  Lord,  dead,  in  her  stony  skirts? 

Fled,  too,  my  last  fond  hope,  to  lay  Him  fair. 

And  kiss  His  wounded  feet,  and  wash  the  blood 

From  the  pierced  palms,  and  comb  His  tangled  hair 

To  comeliness,  and  leave  Him  —  like  a  King  — 

To  His  forgetful  angels.    Weeping  hard 

With  these  thoughts,  like  to  snake-fangs,  stinging  me, 

My  left  hand  on  the  stone  I  laid,  and  shut 

The  eager  sunshine  off  with  my  right  hand. 

Kneeling,  and  looking  in  the  sepulcher. 

It  was  not  dark  within !   I  deemed  at  first 

A  lamp  burned  there,  such  radiance  mild  I  saw 

Lighting  the  hewn  walls,  and  the  linen  bands; 

And,  in  one  corner,  folded  by  itself. 

The  face-cloth.    Coming  closer,  I  espied 

Two  men  who  sate  there  —  very  watchfully  — 

One  at  the  head,  the  other  at  the  foot 

Of  that  stone  table  where  my  Lord  had  lain. 

Oh !  I  say  "  men  "  —  I  should  have  known  no  men 

Had  eyes  like  theirs,  shapes  so  majestical. 

Tongues  tuned  to  such  a  music  as  the  tone 

Wherewith  they  questioned  me :    "  Why  weepest  thou  ?  '* 

**  Ah,  Sirs!"   I  said,   **  my  Lord  is  ta'en  away. 

Nor  wot  we  whither !  '*  and  thereat  my  tears 


580  CHOICE  READINGS 

Blotted  all  seeing.   So,  I  turned  to  wipe 

The  hot  drops  ofif;  and,  look!   Another  one 

Standing  behind  me,  and  my  foolish  eyes 

Hard  gazing  on  Him,  and  not  knowing  Himl 

Indeed,  I  deemed  this  was  the  Gardener 

Keeping  the  trees  and  tomb,  so  was  He  flesh; 

So  living,  natural,  and  made  like  man, 

Albeit,  if  I  had  marked  —  if  any  ray 

Of  watchful  hope  had  helped  me  —  such  a  look, 

Such  Presence,  beautiful  and  pure;  such  light 

Of  loveliest  compassion  in  His  face. 

Had  told  my  beating  heart  and  blinded  eyes 

WHO  this  must  be.   But  I  —  my  brow  i'  the  dust  — • 

Heard  Him  say  softly:  "Wherefore  weepest  thou? 

Whom  seekest  thou  ?  *'    A  little  marveled  I  — 

Still  at  his  feet,  too  sorrowful  to  rise, — 

He  should  ask  this, —  the  void  grave  gaping  near, 

And  He  its  watchman ;  yet  His  accents  glad. 

'*  Sir,'*  said  I,  "if  't  is  thou  hast  borne  Him  hence, 

Tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  Him.    Then  will  I 

Bear  Him  away!  " 

Ah,  friend,  such  answer  came,  that  my  sadness  turned 

Gladness,  as  suddenly  as  gray  is  gold 

When  the  sun  springs  in  glory!  such  a  word 

As  made  my  mourning  laugh  itself  to  naught. 

Like  a  cloud  melting  to  the  blue !     Such  word 

As,  with  more  music  than  Earth  ever  heard, 

Set  my  swift-dancing  veins  full  well  aware 

Why  so  the  Day  dawned,  and  the  City  stirred. 

And  the  vast  idle  world  went  busy  on, 

And  the  birds  caroled,  and,  in  palm-tree  tops, 

The  wise  doves  cooed  of  love!     Oh,  a  dear  word 

Spoke  first  to  me,  and,  after  me,  to  all. 

That  all  may  always  know  He  is  the  Lord, 

And  Death  is  dead,  and  new  times  come  for  men; 

And  Heaven's  ways  justified,  and  Christ  alive. 

Whom  we  saw  die,  nailed  on  the  cruel  Cross! 

For,  while  I  lay  there,  sobbing  at  His  feet, 


MISCELLANEOUS  581 

The  word  He  spake  —  My  Lord !  my  Kingl  my  Christ!  — 
Was  my  name: 

"MARY!" 

No  language  had  I  then, 
No  language  have  I  now!  only  I  turned 
My  quick  glance  upward;  saw  Him;  knew  Him!  sprang, 
Crying:  ''Rabboni!     Lord!  my  Lord!  dear  Lord!" 

—  Edwin  Arnold. 


RICHELIEU 


In  this  scene,  four  characters  are  introduced:  Richelieu,  the  minister 
of  France  and  cardinal  of  the  church  of  Rome;  Louis,  the  king;  Baradas, 
the  chief  conspirator;  Julie,  Richelieu's  ward. 

The  king  and  Baradas  have  planned  the  assassination  of  Richelieu.  The 
king  has  also  designed  to  marry  Julie;  but  in  order  to  prevent  this,  Riche- 
lieu has  given  her  in  marriage  to  Adrlen  de  Mauprat,  whom  Baradas  has 
induced  to  become  the  tool  in  the  assassination  of  Richelieu. 

As  De  Mauprat  enters  Richelieu's  room  to  commit  the  murder,  Riche- 
lieu, having  anticipated  him,  thwarts  him  in  his  purpose,  and  then  explains 
to  him  the  treachery  of  Baradas;  whereupon  De  Mauprat  becomes  con- 
cerned for  Richelieu's  safety,  and  meeting  the  conspirators  after  leaving  the 
house,  announces  to  them  that  Richelieu  is  dead. 

On  the  following  day,  the  conspirators,  together  with  De  Mauprat, 
convene  at  the  king's  palace.  While  here,  Baradas,  who  has  already  impris- 
oned Huguet,  a  spy,  conspires  against  De  Mauprat,  and  finally,  by  gain- 
ing the  consent  of  the  king,  succeeds  in  having  him  also  imprisoned  in  the 
Bastile. 

And  now  as  the  king  and  the  conspirators  are  rejoicing  over  the  sup- 
posed death  of  Richelieu,  and  are  discussing  plans  as  to  the  best  disposition 
of  public  offices,  Richelieu  enters  and  says: 

Rich,   [fiercely,!^  Room,  my  lords,  room. 

The  minister  of  France  can  need  no  intercession  with  the  King. 

Louis,  What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  Lord  Cardinal? 

Rich,  Are  you,  then,  angered,  Sire,  that  I  live  still? 

Louis,  No;  but  such  artifice  — 

Rich,  Not  mine;  look  elsewhere,  Louis! 
My  castle  swarmed  with  the  assassins. 

Bar,  [advancing,^     We  have  punished  them  already.     Huguet 
now 
In  the  Bastile.     Oh!  my  lord,  we  were  prompt 
To  avenge  you  —  we  were. 

Rich.  We?    Ha,  ha!  you  hear, 


S62  CHOICE  READINGS 

My  liege!    What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar, 
Made  you  a  plural?    Count,  you  have  seized  the  hireling; 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master? 

Louis.  Tush,  my  lord, 

The  old  contrivance;  ever  does  your  vv^it 
Invent  assassins,  that  ambition  may 
Slay  rivals  — 

Rich.  Rivals,  Sire,  in  what? 
Service  to  France?    I  have  none.    Lives  the  man 
Whom  Europe  deems  rival  to 
Armand  Richelieu? 

Louis.  What,  so  haughty! 
Remember,  he  vs^ho  made,  can  unmake. 

Rich.  Never  I 

Never!     Your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands. 
Rifle  my  coffers  —  but  my  name,  my  deeds 
-Are  loyal  in  a  land  beyond  your  scepter. 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  v^ill ;  from  Kings 
Lo!  I  appeal  to  time! 

Louis  [motions  to  Baradas  and  turns  haughtily  to  the  Cardi- 
nal^ .     Enough ! 
Your  Eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 
To  your  own  palace:  for  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place,  nor  season. 

Rich.  Good,  my  liege,  for  Justice 
AH  place  a  temple,  and  all  season  summer! 
Do  you  deny  me  justice?     Saints  of  heaven! 
He  turns  from  me !    Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
For  fifteen  years,  while  in  these  hands  dwelt  Empire, 
The  humblest  craftsman,  the  obscurest  vassal. 
The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun. 
Though  loathed  by  Charity,  might  ask  for  justice! 
Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 
Of  some  I  see  around  you  —  Counts  and  Princes 
Kneeling  for  favors;  but  erect  and  loud. 
As  men  who  ask  man's  rights !  —  My  liege,  my  Louis, 
Do  you  refuse  me  justice  —  audience  even  — 
In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murder? 

Louis,  Lord  Cardinal,  one  by  one  you  have  severed  from  me 


MISCELLANEOUS  583 

The  bonds  of  human  love ;  all  near  and  dear 

Marked  out  for  vengeance  —  exile  or  the  scaffold. 

You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 

My  closest  kindred.     You  would  tear  them  from  me; 

They  murder  you,  forsooth,  since  me  they  love. 

Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign. 

Home!  home!  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms. 

Rich.  Sire ! 

I  —  patience,  Heaven!     Sweet  Heaven!     Sire,  from  the  foot 
Of  that  Great  Throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft  ^ 
On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 
And  worshiped  by  their  awe  —  before  the  foot 
Of  that  high  throne,  spurn  you  the  gray-haired  man 
Who  gave  you  empire  —  and  now  sues  for  safety  ? 

Louis,  No;  when  we  see  your  Eminence  in  truth 
At  the  foot  of  the  throne,  we  11  listen  to  you. 
[Exit  King  and  train, ^ 

Rich.  Goddess  of  bright  dreams, 
My  country  —  shalt  thou  lose  me  now,  when  most 
Thou  need'st  thy  worshiper?     My  native  land! 
Let  me  but  ward  this  dagger  from  thy  heart, 
And  die  —  but  on  thy  bosom. 

[£w/^r  Julie.] 

Julie.  Heaven!     I  thank  thee! 
It  cannot  be,  or  this  all-powerful  man 
Would  not  stand  idly  thus. 

Rich.  Julie  de  Maupart,  what  dost  thou  here? 
Home ! 

Julie.  Home !  —  is  Adrien  there  ?     You  Ve  dumb,  yet  strive 
For  words;  I  see  them  trembling  on  your  lips, 
But  choked  by  pity.     It  was  truth  —  all  truth! 
Seized  —  the  Bastile  —  and  in  your  presence,  too ! 
Cardinal,  where  is  Adrien?     Think!  he  saved 
Your  life;  your  name  is  infamy,  if  wrong 
Should  come  to  his ! 

Rich.  Be  soothed,  child. 

Julie.  Child  no  more! 
I  love,  and  I  am  woman!  Hope  and  suffer: 
Love,  suffering,  hope  —  what  else  doth  make  the  strength 
And  majesty  of  woman? 


584  CHOICE  READINGS 

I  ask  thee  for  my  home,  my  fate,  my  all ! 
Where  is  my  husband? 

Rich,  You  are  Richelieu's  ward. 

A  soldier's  bride;  they  who  insist  on  truth 
Must  out-face  fear:  you  ask  me  for  your  husband? 
There,  where  the  clouds  of  heaven  look  darkest  o'er 
The  domes  of  the  Bastile! 

Julie.  O,  mercy,  mercy! 

Save  him,  restore  him,  father!    Art  thou  not 
The  Cardinal  King  ?  the  lord  of  life  and  death  ? 
Art  thou  not  Richelieu? 

Rich.  Yesterday  I  was; 

To-day,  a  very  weak  old  man;  to-morrow, 
I  know  not  what. 

[Enter  Clermont.] 

Cler.  Madame  de  Mauprat  1  — 
Pardon,  your  Eminence;  even  now  I  seek 
This  lady's  home  —  commanded  by  the  King 
To  pray  her  presence. 

Rich,  To  those  who  sent  you! 

And  say  you  found  the  virtue  they  would  slay 
Here,  couched  upon  this  heart,  as  at  an  altar. 
And  sheltered  by  the  wings  of  sacred  Rome ! 
Be  gone! 

[Enter  Baradas.] 

Bar.  My  lord,  the  King  cannot  believe  your  Eminence 
So  far  forgets  your  duty,  and  his  greatness. 
As  to  resist  his  mandate. —  Pray  you,  madame. 
Obey  the  King ;  no  cause  for  fear. 

Julie.  My  father! 

Rich.  She  shall  not  stir! 

Bar.  You  are  not  of  her  kindred; 

An  orphan  — 

Rich.  And  her  country  is  her  mother. 

Bar.  The  country  is  the  King. 

Rich,  Ay,  is  it  so? 

Then  wakes  the  power  which  in  the  age  of  iron 
Bursts  forth  to  curb  the  great,  and  raise  the  low. 
Mark,  where  she  stands:  around  her  form  I  draw 
The  awful  circle  of  our  solemn  Church! 


MISCELLANEOUS  585 

Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground, 

And  on  thy  head  —  yea,  though  it  wore  a  crown  — 

I  launch  the  curse  of  Rome! 

Bar,  I  dare  not  brave  you; 

I  do  but  speak  the  orders  of  my  King: 
The  Church,  your  rank,  power,  very  word,  my  lord, 
Suffice  you  for  resistance;  blame  yourself. 
If  it  should  cost  your  power. 

Rich,  That  *s  my  stake.     Ah ! 

Dark  gamester!  what  is  thine?    Look  to  it  well  — 
Lose  not  a  trick.     By  this  same  hour  to-morrow 
Thou  shalt  have  France,  or  I  thy  head ! 

Bar,  In  sooth,  my  lord, 

You  do  need  rest ;  the  burdens  of  the  state 
Overtask  your  health.     [Aside.]  His  mind 

And  life  are  breaking  fast. 

Rich,    [overhearing  him.]     Irreverent  ribald! 
If  so,  beware  the  falling  ruins!     Hark! 
I  tell  thee,  scorner  of  these  whitening  hairs, 
When  this  snow  melteth  there  shall  come  a  flood! 
Avaunt !  my  name  is  Richelieu  —  I  defy  thee ! 

—  Sir  Edward  Lytton, 


THE  UTILITY  OF  BOOING 

This  selection  is  taken  from  an  old  English  play,  "  The  Man  of  the 
World."  It  was  written  to  satirize  a  mean  old  Scotchman  who  amassed 
a  large  fortune  by  questionable  means,  and  was  elevated  to  the  Peerage 
under  the  title  of  the  Earl  of  Eldon.  The  Earl,  who  is  represented  in  the 
play  as  Sir  Pertinax  MacSycophant,  is  giving  his  son  Egerton  an  account 
of  his  successful  business  ventures. 

Sir  Pertinax  MacSycophant  and  Egerton. 

Sir  P.  Zounds!  sir,  I  will  not  hear  a  word  aboot  it;  I  insist 
upon  it  you  are  wrong;  you  should  have  paid  your  court  till  my 
lord,  and  not  have  scrupled  swallowing  a  bumper  or  twa,  or 
twenty,  till  oblige  him. 

Eger.  Sir,  I  did  drink  his  toast  in  a  bumper. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  you  did;  but  how,  how?  —  just  as  a  bairn  takes 
physic  —  with  aversions  and  wry  faces,  which  my  lord  observed; 


586  CHOICE  READINGS 

then,  to  mend  the  matter,  the  moment  that  he  and  the  Colonel  got 
intill  a  drunken  dispute  aboot  religion,  you  slily  slunged  away. 

Eger,  I  thought,  sir,  it  was  time  to  go  when  my  lord  insisted 
upon  half-pint  bumpers. 

Sir  P,  Sir,  that  was  not  leveled  at  you,  but  at  the  Colonel, 
in  order  to  try  his  bottom;  but  they  aw  agreed  that  you  and  I 
should  drink  out  of  sma'  glasses. 

Eger.  But,  sir,  I  beg  pardon;  I  did  not  choose  to  drink  any 
more. 

Sir  P.  But,  zoons!  sir,  I  tell  you  there  was  a  necessity  for 
your  drinking  mair. 

Eger,  A  necessity!  in  what  respect,  pray,  sir? 

Sir  P.  Why,  sir,  I  have  a  certain  point  to  carry,  independent 
of  the  lawyers,  with  my  lord,  in  this  agreement  of  your  mar- 
riage—  aboot  which  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  a  warm  squabble 
—  and  therefore  I  wanted  your  assistance  in  it. 

Eger,  But  how,  sir,  could  my  drinking  contribute  to  assist 
you  in  your  squabble? 

Sir  P,  Yes,  sir,  it  would  have  contributed,  and  greatly  have 
contributed,  to  assist  me. 

Eger,  How  so,  sir? 

Sir  P,  Nay,  sir,  it  might  have  prevented  the  squabble  entirely; 
for  as  my  lord  is  proud  of  you  for  a  son-in-law,  and  is  fond  of 
your  little  French  songs,  your  stories,  and  your  bonmots,  when 
you  are  in  the  humor;  and  guin  you  had  but  stayed,  and  been  a 
little  jolly,  and  drunk  half  a  score  bumpers  with  him,  till  he  had 
got  a  litle  tipsy,  I  am  sure,  when  we  had  him  in  that  mood,  we 
might  have  settled  the  point  as  I  could  wish  it,  among  ourselves, 
before  the  lawyers  came;  but  now,  sir,  I  do  not  ken  what  Vv^ill  be 
the  consequence. 

Eger,  But  when  a  man  is  intoxicated,  would  that  have  been 
a  seasonable  time  to  settle  business,  sir? 

Sir  P,  The  most  seasonable,  sir;  for,  sir,  when  my  lord  is  in 
his  cups,  his  suspicion  is  asleep,  and  his  heart  is  aw  jollity,  fun, 
and  guid  fellowship;  and,  sir,  can  there  be  a  happier  moment 
than  that  for  a  bargain,  or  to  settle  a  dispute  with  a  friend?  What 
is  it  you  shrug  up  your  shoulders  at,  sir  ? 

Eger,  At  my  own  ignorance,  sir;  for  I  understand  neither  the 
philosophy  nor  the  morality  of  your  doctrine. 

Sir  P,  I  know  you  do  not,  sir;  and,  what  is  worse,  you  never 


MISCELLANEOUS  587 

will  understand  it,  as  you  proceed  —  in  one  word,  Charles,  I 
have  often  told  you,  and  now  again  I  tell  you,  once  for  aw,  that 
the  manoeuvres  of  pliability  are  as  necessary  to  rise  in  the  world, 
as  wrangling  and  logical  subtlety  are  to  rise  at  the  bar;  why,  you 
see,  sir,  I  have  acquired  a  noble  fortune,  a  princely  fortune  —  and 
how  do  you  think  I  raised  it? 

Eger,  Doubtless,  sir,  by  your  abilities. 

Sir  P,  Doubtless,  sir,  you  are  a  blockhead ;  nae,  sir,  I  '11  tell 
you  how  I  raised  it  —  sir,  I  raised  it  —  by  booing  —  [^Bows  very 
low']  —  by  booing ;  sir,  I  never  could  stand  straight  in  the  pres-' 
ence  of  a  great  mon,  but  always  booed,  and  booed,  and  booed  —  as 
it  were  by  instinct. 

Eger.  How  do  you  mean  by  instinct,  sir? 

Sir  P,  How  do  I  mean  by  instinct !  —  Why,  sir,  I  mean  by  — 
by  —  by  the  instinct  of  interest,  sir,  which  is  the  universal  instinct 
of  mankind.  Sir,  it  is  wonderful  to  think  what  a  cordial,  what 
an  amicable  —  nay,  what  an  infallible  influence  booing  has  upon 
the  pride  and  vanity  of  human  nature.  Charles,  answer  me  sin- 
cerely, have  you  a  mind  to  be  convinced  of  the  force  of  my  doctrine 
by  example  and  demonstration? 

Eger,  Certainly,  sir. 

Sir  P.  Then,  sir,  as  the  greatest  favor  I  can  confer  upon  you, 
I  11  give  you  a  short  sketch  of  the  stages  of  my  booing,  as  an 
excitement,  and  a  landmark  to  boo  by,  and  as  an  infallible  nostrum 
for  a  man  of  the  world  to  rise  in  the  world. 

Eger.  Sir,  I  shall  be  proud  to  profit  by  your  experience. 

Sir  P.  Vary  weel,  sir;  sit  ye  down  then,  sit  you  down  here. — 
\_They  sit,] — And  now,  sir,  you  must  recall  to  your  thoughts 
that  your  grandfather  was  a  man  whose  penurious  income  of  cap- 
tain's half-pay  was  the  sum  total  of  his  fortune;  and,  sir,  aw  my 
provision  fra  him  was  a  modicum  of  Latin,  an  expertness  in 
arithmetic,  and  a  short  system  of  wordly  counsel;  the  principal 
ingredients  of  which  were  a  persevering  industry,  a  rigid  economy, 
a  smooth  tongue,  a  pliability  of  temper,  and  a  constant  attention 
to  make  every  mon  well  pleased  with  himself. 

Eger,  Very  prudent  advice,  sir. 

Sir  P,  Therefore,  sir,  I  lay  it  before  you.  Now,  sir,  with 
these  materials  I  set  out,  a  raw-boned  stripling,  fra  the  North  to 
try  my  fortune  with  them  here,  in  the  Sooth;  and  my  first  step 
into  the  world  was  a  beggarly  clerkship  in  Sawney  Gordon's  count- 


588  CHOICE  READINGS 

ing-house,  here,  in  the  city  of  London,  which  you  '11  say  afforded 
but  a  barren  sort  of  a  prospect. 

Eger,  It  was  not  a  very  fertile  one,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  P,  The  reverse,  the  reverse.  Weel,  sir,  seeing  myself  in 
this  unprofitable  situation,  I  reflected  deeply;  I  cast  about  my 
.  thoughts  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  marked  every  man  and 
every  mode  of  prosperity;  at  last  I  concluded  that  a  matrimonial 
adventure,  prudently  conducted,  would  be  the  readiest  gait  I  could 
gang  for  the  bettering  of  my  condition,  and  accordingly  I  set  aboot 
it.  Now,  sir,  in  this  pursuit,  beauty !  —  ah !  beauty  often  struck 
my  cen,  and  played  about  my  heart;  and  fluttered,  and  beat,  and 
knocked,  and  knocked,  but  the  devil  an  entrance  I  ever  let  it  get; 
for  I  observed,  sir,  that  beauty  is,  generally,  a  —  proud,  vain, 
saucy,  expensive,  impertinent  sort  of  a  commodity. 

Es^er,  Very  justly  observed. 

Sir  P.  And  therefore,  sir,  I  left  it  for  prodigals  and  cox- 
combs, that  could  afford  to  pay  for  it;  and,  in  its  stead,  sir,  mark! 
I  looked  out  for  an  ancient,  weel-jointured,  superannuated 
dowager;  a  consumptive,  toothless,  phthisicky,  wealthy  widow, 
or  a  shriveled,  cadaverous  piece  of  deformity,  in  the  shape  of  an 
izzard,  or  an  appersi-and  —  or,  in  short,  ainy  thing,  ainy  thing 
that  had  the  siller  —  the  siller  —  for  that,  sir,  was  the  north- 
star  of  my  affections.     Do  you  take  me,  sir?  was  nae  that  right? 

Eger.  O  doubtless,  doubtless,  sir. 

Sir  P,  Now,  sir,  where  do  you  think  I  ganged  to  look  for 
this  woman  with  the  siller  ?  —  nae  till  court,  nae  till  playhouses 
or  assemblies  —  nae,  sir,  I  ganged  till  the  kirk,  till  the  Anabaptist, 
Independent,  Bradlonian,  and  Muggletonian  meetings;  till  the 
morning  and  evening  service  of  churches  and  chapels-of-ease,  and 
till  the  midnight,  melting,  conciliating  love-feasts  of  the  Dis- 
senters; and  there,  sir,  at  last  I  fell  upon  an  old,  slighted,  anti- 
quated, musty  maiden,  that  looked  —  ha,  ha,  ha!  she  looked  just 
like  a  skeleton  in  a  surgeon's  glass  case.  Now,  sir,  this  miserable 
object  was  religiously  angry  with  herself  and  all  the  world;  had 
nae  comfort  but  in  metaphysical  visions  and  supernatural  deliriums . 
—  ha,  ha,  ha!     Sir,  she  was  as  mad  —  as  mad  as  a  Bedlamite. 

Eger.  Not  improbable,  sir ;  there  are  numbers  of  poor  creatures 
in  the  same  condition. 

Sir  P.  Oh,  numbers,  numbers.  Now,  sir,  this  cracked  creature 
used  to  pray  and  sing,  and  sigh  and  groan,  and  weep  and  wail> 


MISCELLANEOUS  589 

and  gnash  her  teeth  constantly,  morning  and  evening,  at  the 
Tabernacle  at  Moorfields;  and  as  soon  as  I  found  she  had  the 
siller,  ahalguid  traith,  I  plumped  me  down  upon  my  knees,  close 
by  her  —  cheek  by  jowl  —  and  prayed,  and  sighed,  and  sung, 
and  groaned,  and  gnashed  my  teeth  as  vehemently  as  she  could  do 
for  the  life  of  her;  ay,  and  turned  up  the  whites  of  mine  een, 
till  the  strings  awmost  cracked  again.  I  watched  her  motions, 
handed  her  till  her  chair,  waited  on  her  home,  got  most  relig- 
iously intimate  with  her  in  a  week  —  married  her  In  a  fortnight, 
buried  her  In  a  month  —  touched  the  siller,  and  with  a  deep  suit 
of  mourning,  a  melancholy  port,  a  sorrowful  visage,  and  a  joyful 
heart,  I  began  the  world  again ;  and  this,  sir,  was  the  first  boo  — 
that  is,  the  first  effectual  boo  —  I  ever  made  till  the  vanity  of 
human  nature. —  [Rises.]  —  Now,  sir,  do  you  understand  this 
doctrine  ? 

Eger.  Perfectly  well,  sir. 

Sir  P,  Ay,  but  was  it  not  right?  was  it  not  ingenious,  and  wecl 
hit  off? 

Eger.  Certainly,  sir;  extremely  well. 

Sir  P.  My  next  boo,  sir,  was  till  your  ain  mother,  whom  I 
ran  away  with  fra  the  boarding-school;  by  the  interest  of  whose 
family  I  got  a  guid  smart  place  in  the  Treasury ;  and,  sir,  my  very 
next  step  was  intill  Parliament;  the  which  I  entered  with  as 
ardent  and  determined  an  ambition  as  ever  agitated  the  heart  of 
Caesar  himself.  Sir,  I  booed,  and  watched,  and  hearkened,  and 
ran  aboot,  backwards  and  forwards,  and  attended  and  dangled 
upon  the  then  great  mon,  till  I  got  intill  the  vary  bowels  of  his 
confidence,  and  then,  sir,  I  wriggled  and  wrought,  and  wriggled, 
till  I  wriggled  myself  among  the  vary  thick  of  them;  ha!  I  got 
my  snack  of  the  clothing,  the  foraging,  the  contracts,  the  lottery 
tickets,  and  aw  the  political  bonuses;  till  at  length,  sir,  I  became 
a  much  wealthier  mon  than  one-half  of  the  golden  calves  I  had 
been  so  long  a-booing  to;  and  was  nae  that  booing  to  some  purpose? 

Eger.  It  was,  indeed,  sir. 

Sir  P.  But  are  you  convinced  of  the  guid  effects  and  the  utility 
©f  booing? 

Eger.    Thoroughly. 

Sir  P.  Sir,  it  is  infallible. 

—  Charles  Macklin, 


590  CHOICE  READINGS 


RHYME  OF  THE  DUCHESS  MAY 

'T  was  a  Duke's  fair  orphan  girl,  and  her  uncle's  ward,  the  Earl, 
Who  betrothed  her,  twelve  years  old,  for  the  sake  of  dowry  gold, 
To  his  son,  Lord  Leigh,  the  churl. 

But  what  time  she  had  made  good  all  her  years  of  womanhood, 
Unto  both  those  lords  of  Leigh  spake  she  out  right  sovranly, 
"  My  will  runneth  as  my  blood, 

^'And  while  this  same  blood  makes  red  this  same  right  hand's 

veins,"  she  said, 
'*  'T  is  my  will  as  lady  free,  not  to  wed  a  Lord  of  Leigh, 
But  Sir  Guy  of  Linteged." 

The  old  Earl  he  smiled  smooth,  then  he  sighed  for  willful  youth  — 
^  Good  my  niece,  that  hand  withal  looketh  somewhat  soft  and 
small 

For  so  large  a  will  in  sooth." 

She,  too,  smiled  by  that  same  sign,  but  her  smile  was  cold  and 

fine; 
"  Little  hand  clasps  muckle  gold,  or  it  were  not  worth  the  hold 
Of  thy  son,  good  uncle  mine !  " 

Then  the  young  lord  jerked  his  breath,  and  sware  thickly  in  his 

teeth, 
"  He  would  wed  his  own  betrothed,  an  she  loved  him  an  she 

loathed. 

Let  the  life  come  or  the  death." 

Up  she  rose  with  scornful  eyes,  as  her  father's  child  might  rise, 
**  Thy  hound's  blood,  my  lord  of  Leigh,  stains  thy  knightly  heel," 
quoth  she, 

"  And  he  moans  not  where  he  lies. 

"  But  a  woman's  will  dies  hard,  in  the  hall  or  on  the  sward ! 
By  that   grave,   my  lords,   which   made   me  orphaned   girl   and 
dowered  lady, 

I  deny  you  wife  and  ward." 


MISCELLANEOUS  591 

Unto  each  she  bowed  her  head,  and  swept  past  with  lofty  tread. 
Ere  the  midnight  bell  had  ceased,  in  the  chapel  had  the  priest 
Blessed  her,  bride  of  Linteged. 

Fast  and  fain  the  bridal  train  along  the  night-storm  rode  amain; 
Hard  the  steeds  of  lord  and  serf  struck  their  hoofs  out  on  the 
turf, 

In  the  pauses  of  the  rain. 

Fast  and  fain  the  kinsman's  train  along  the  storm  pursued  amain  — 
Steed  on  steed-track,  dashing  o£E,  thickening,   doubling,  hoof  on 
hoof, 

In  the  pauses  of  the  rain. 

And  the  bridegroom  led  the  flight  on  his  red-roan  steed  of  might, 
And  the  bride  lay  on  his  arm,  still,  as  if  she  feared  no  harm, 
Smiling  out  into  the  night. 

"  Dost  thou  fear?  "  he  said  at  last.    "  Nay,"  she  answered  him  in 

haste  ; 
"  Not  such  death  as  we  could  find,  only  life  with  one  behind  — 
Ride  on  fast  as  fear  —  ride  fast !  " 

Up  the  mountain  wheeled  the  steed  —  girth  to  ground,  and  fet- 
locks spread — 

Headlong  bounds,  and  rocking  flanks  —  down  he  staggered,  down 
the  banks. 

To  the  towers  of  Linteged. 

High  and  low  the  serfs  looked  out,  red  the  flambeaus  tossed  about  ; 
In  the  courtyard  rose  the  cry,  "  Live  the  Duchess  and  Sir  Guy!  " 
But  she  never  heard  them  shout. 

On  the  steed  she  dropt  her  cheek,  kissed  his  mane  and  kissed  his 

neck  — 
"  I  had  happier  died  by  thee,  than  lived  on  a  Lady  Leigh,'* 
Were  the  first  words  she  did  speak. 

But  a  three  months'  joyance  lay  'twixt  that  moment  and  to-day, 
(When  five  hundred  archers  tall  stand  beside  the  castle  wall, 
To  recapture  Duchess  May. 


592  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  the  castle  standeth  black,  with  the  red  sun  at  its  back; 
And  a  fortnight's  siege  is  done,  and,  except  the  Duchess,  none 
Can  misdoubt  the  coming  wrack. 

*       *       * 

"  One  last  boon,  young  Ralph  and  Clare !  faithful  hearts  to  do  and 

dare! 
Bring  that  steed  up  from  his  stall,  which  she  kissed  before  you  all, 
Guide  him  up  the  turret  stair. 

"  Ye  shall  harness  him  aright,  and  lead  upward  to  this  height ! 
Once  in  love  and  twice  in  war  hath  he  borne  me  strong  and  far. 
He  shall  bear  me  far  tonight." 


They  have  fetched  the  steed  with  care,  in  the  harness  he  did  wear, 
Past  the  court  and  through  the  doors,  across  the  rushes  of  the 
floors ; 

But  they  goad  him  up  the  stair. 

Then  from  out  her  bower-chambere  did  the  Duchess  May  repair. 
"  Tell  me,  now,  what  is  your  need,''  said  the  lady,  "  of  this  steed, 
That  ye  goad  him  up  the  stair?  " 

Calm  she  stood!  unbodkined  through,  fell  her  dark  hair  to  her 

shoe, 
And  the  smile  upon  her  face,  ere  she  left  the  tiring-glass, 
Had  not  time  enough  to  go. 

"Get  thee   back,   sweet  Duchess   May!   hope   is   gone   like  yes- 
terday — 

One-half  hour  completes  the  breach,  and  thy  lord  grows  wild  of 
speech ; 

Get  thee  in,  sweet  lady,  and  pray !  " 

"  In  the  east  tower,  high'st  of  all,  loud  he  cries  for  steed  from 

stall. 
He  would  ride  as  far,"  quoth  he,  "  as  for  love  and  victory, 
Though  he  ride  the  castle  wall." 


MISCELLANEOUS  593 

"  And  we  fetch  the  steed  from  stall,  up  where  never  a  hoof  did 

fall. 
Wifely  prayer  meets  deathly  need!  may  the  sweet  heavens  hear 

thee  plead, 

If  he  rides  the  castle  wall." 

Low  she  dropt  her  head,  and  lower,  till  her  hair  coiled  on  the  floor, 
And  tear  after  tear  you  heard  fall  distinct  as  any  word 
Which  you  might  be  listening  for. 

"  Get  thee  in,  thou  soft  ladie !  here  is  never  a  place  for  thee ! 
Braid  thy  hair  and  clasp  thy  gown,  that  thy  beauty  in  its  moan 
May  find  grace  with  Leigh  of  Leigh." 

She  stood  up  in  bitter  case,  with  a  pale  yet  steady  face. 
Like  a  statue  thunderstruck,  which,  though  quivering  seems  to 
look 

Right  against  the  thunder-place. 

And  her  foot  trod   in,  with  pride,  her  own   tears  i'   the  stone 

beside  — 
"  Go  to,  faithful  friends,  go  to !     Judge  no  more  what  ladies  do, 
No,  nor  how  their  lords  may  ride !  " 

Then  the  good  steed's  rein  she  took,  and  his  neck  did  kiss  and 

stroke  ; 

Soft  he  neighed  to  answer  her,  and  then  followed  up  the  Stair, 

For  the  love  of  her  sweet  look. 

Oh,  and  steeply,  steeply  wound  up  the  narrow  stair  around  — 
Oh,  and  closely,  closely  speeding,  step  by  step  beside  her  treading, 
Did  he  follow,  meek  as  hound. 

On  the  east  tower,  highest  of  all,  there,  where  never  a  hoof  did 

fall- 
out they  swept,  a  vision  steady  —  noble  steed  and  lovely  lady, 
Calm  as  if  in  bower  or  stall!  ^ 

Down  she  knelt  at  her  lord's  knee,  and  she  looked  up  silently; 
And  he  kissed  her  twice  and  thrice,  for  that  look  within  her  eyes 
Which  he  could  not  bear  to  see. 


594  CHOICE  READINGS 

Quoth  he,  ''  Get  thee  from  this  strife  —  and  the  sweet  sarnts  bless 

thy  life! 
In  this  hour  I  stand  in  need  of  my  noble  red-roan  steed  — 
But  no  more  of  my  noble  wife." 

Quoth  she,  "  Meekly  have  I  done  all  thy  bidding  under  sun  ; 
But  by  all  my  womanhood,  which  is  proved  so  true  and  good, 
I  will  never  do  this  one. 

"  Now  by  womanhood *s  degree  and  by  wifehood's  verity, 
In  this  hour  if  thou  hast  need  of  thy  noble  red-roan  steed, 
Thou  hast  also  need  of  me. 

"  By  this  golden  ring  ye  see  on  this  lifted  hand  pardie, 
If  this  hour  on  castle  wall  can  be  room  for  steed  from  stall, 
Shall  be  also  room  for  me. 

"  So  the  sweet  saints  with  me  be  "  (did  she  utter  solemnly), 
"  If  a  man  this  eventide,  on  this  castle  wall  will  ride. 
He  shall  ride  the  same  with  me.'' 

Oh,  he  sprang  up  in  the  selle,  and  he  laughed  out  bitter-well, 
'*  Wouldst  thou  ride  among  the  leaves,  as  we  used  on  other  eves, 
To  hear  chime  a  vesper  bell  ?  " 

She  clang  closer  to  his  knee.   "  Ay,  beneath  the  cypress  tree ! 
Mock  me  not,  for  otherwhere  than  along  the  greenwood  fair 
Have  I  ridden  fast  with  thee! 

"  Fast  I  rode  with  new-made  vows,  from  my  angry  kinsman's 

house ! 
What!  and  would  you  men  should  reck  that  I  dared  more  for 

love's  sake 

As  a  bride  than  as  a  spouse? 

"What,  and  would  you  it  should  fall,  as  a  proverb  before  all, 
That  a  bride  may  keep  your  side  while  through  castle-gate  you 
ride, 

Yet  eschew  the  castle-wall  ?  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  595 

Ho !  the  breach  yawns  into  ruin,  and  roars  up  against  her  suing  — 
With  the  inarticulate  din,  and  the  dreadful  falling  in  — 
Shrieks  of  doing  and  undoing! 

Twice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain,  but  the  small  hands  closed 

again. 
Back  he  reined  the  steed  —  back,  back!  but  she  trailed  along  his 

track 

With  a  frantic  clasp  and  strain! 

Evermore  the  foemen  pour  through  the  crash  of  window  and 

door  ; 
And  the  shouts  of  Leigh  and  Leigh,  and  the  shrieks  of  "  Kill !  " 

and  "Flee!" 

Strike  up  clear  amid  the  roar. 

Thrice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain,  but  they  closed  and  clung 

again  ; 
Wild  she  clung,  as  one,  withstood,  clasps  a  Christ  upon  the  rood, 
In  a  spasm  of  deathly  pain. 

She  clung  wild  and  she  clung  mute,  with  her  shuddering  lips 

half-shut, 
Her  head  fallen  as  half  in  swound,  hair  and  knee  swept  on  the 

ground. 

She  clung  wild  to  stirrup  and  foot. 

Back  he  reined  his  steed  back-thrown  on  the  slippery  coping-stone, 
Back  the  iron  hoofs  did  grind  on  the  battlement  behind. 
Whence  a  hundred  feet  went  down. 

And  his  heel  did  press  and  goad  on  the  quivering  flank  bestrode, 
"  Friends  and  brothers,  save  my  wife!    Pardon,  sweet,  in  change 
for  life, — 

But  I  ride  alone  to  God.*' 

Straight,  as  if  the  holy  name  had  upbreathed  her  like  a  flame. 
She  upsprang,  she  rose  upright,  in  his  selle  she  sate  in  sight ; 
By  her  love  she  overcame. 


596  CHOICE  READINGS 

And  her  head  was  on  his  breast,  where  she  smiled  as  one  at  rest, — 
"  Ring,"  she  cried,  **  O  vesper  bell,  in  the  beechwoods  old  chapelle! 
But  the  passing  bell  rings  best." 

They  have  caught  out  at  the  rein,  which  Sir  Guy  threw  loose,  in 

vain, — 
For  the  horse  in  stark  despair,  with  his  front  hoofs  poised  in  air, 
On  the  last  verge  rears  amain. 

Now  he  hangs,  he  rocks  between,  and  his  nostrils  curdle  in, — 
And  he  shivers  head  and  hoof,  and  the  flakes  of  foam  fall  off; 
And  his  face  grows  fierce  and  thin! 

And  a  look  of  human  woe  from  his  staring  eyes  did  go. 
And  a  sharp  cry  uttered  he,  in  a  foretold  agony 
Of  the  headlong  death  below. 

And  '*  Ring,  ring!  thou  passing  bell!  "  still  she  cried,  "  i   the  old 

chapelle!  " 
Then  back-toppling,  crashing  back  —  a  dead  weight  flung  out  to 
wrack, 

Horse  and  riders  overfell! 

—  Elizabeth  Barrttt  Browning. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Page 
ALDRICH,  T.  B. 

Ballad  of  Babie  Bell,  The 241 

In  an  Atelier 36 

ALEXANDER,  MRS.  CECIL 
FRANCES. 
Burial  of  Moses,  The 285 

ALLINGHAM,  WILLIAM. 

Mary   Donnelly 268 

ANDERSON,  ALEXANDER. 

Cuddle   Doon 555 

ANONYxMOUS. 

Birth  of  Ireland I97 

By    Telephone 207 

Connor     233 

Foxes'  Tails,  The i79 

Frenchman  on  Macbeth,  A...   171 

Imph-m    191 

Mrs.    Lofty   and    1 410 

Rationalistic    Chicken,   The...   177 

Rock  of  Ages 247 

Saunders   McGlashan's    Court- 
ship       2" 

Shan  Van  Vocht 424 

Similar  Case,   A 29 

Study  in  Nerves,  A 219 

Victor  of  Marengo,  The 407 

ARNOLD,  EDWIN. 

Resurrection,   The 578 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW. 

Hunters,    The 392 

AYTOUN,  W.  EDMONDSTOUNE. 
Burial  March  of  Dundee,  The  347 


Page 

BACON,  FRANCIS. 

Books    » *  102 

BARRIE,  J.   M. 

Scene  from  the  Little  Minister  394 

BEERS,  MRS.  ETHEL  LYNN. 

Our    Folks 249 

Picket   Guard,   The 428 

BOKER,  GEORGE  H. 

Count    Candespina's    Standard  470 

BROWNING,  ELIZABETH 
BARRETT. 
Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May. . .  590 
Romance  of  the   Swan's  Nest, 
The    486 

BROWNING,  ROBERT. 

Herve   Riel 35^ 

How  They  Brought  the  Good 
News    363 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN. 
Death  of  the  Flowers,  The...  261 
Thanatopsis    256 

BUCHANAN,  ROBERT. 

Green  Gnome,  The 476 

BURDETTE,  ROBERT  J. 

Brakeman  at  Church,  The....     32 

BURNS,  ROBERT. 

Banks  o'   Doon,  The 246 

For  A' That,  and  A' That 429 

John  Anderson,  My  Jo ,,  253 

BURKE,  EDMUND. 

Impeachment  of  Warren  Hast- 
ings       329 


597 


§98 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Page 
BYRON,  LORD. 

Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean 288 

Song  of  the  Greek  Bard 417 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS. 
Ye  Mariners  of  England 523 

CARLETON,  WILL  M. 
Betsy  and  I  Are  Out 443 

GARY,  ALICE. 

Gray    Swan,   The 411 

Old    Chums 30 

Order  for  a  Picture,  An 38 

Pictures  of  Memory 245 

CLEMENS,  SAMUEL  L. 

Critical    Situation,    A 185 

Encounter  with  an  Interviewer, 

An    203 

Our  Guide  in  Genoa  and  Rome  161 

COLERIDGE,  SAMUEL 
TAYLOR. 
Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc 283 

CROLY,  GEORGE. 
Catiline's    Defiance 398 

CURTIS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM. 
Eulogy  on  Wendell  Phillips..   338 

CUSHING,  CALEB. 
New    England 296 

DAVIS,  RICHARD  HARDING. 
Boy    Orator    of    Zepata    City, 

The     519 

Her    First    Appearance 544 

DAVIS,  THOMAS.       , 

Battle  of  Fontenoy,  The 356 

DENNISON,  M.  A. 

Volunteer's  Wife,  The 248 

DE  QUINCEY,  THOMAS. 

Martyrdom  of  Joan  of  Arc...   317 

DICKENS,  CHARLES. 
At  Docter  Blimber'9 in 


Page 

Birth  of  Dombey 108 

Cheap  Jack,  ^^he 144 

Child-Wife,  The 103 

Death  of  Dombey 113 

Dick   Swivellcr   and   the   Mar- 
chioness       117 

Fezziwig's   Ball 137 

Pickwick   in   the  Wrong  Bed- 
room    223 

Tulkinghorn  and  Mademoiselle 
Hortense     123 

EDWARDS,  H.  S. 

Mammy's  Li'l  Boy 408 

Trial  of  Ben  Thomas,  The 494 

Two   Runaways,   The 214 

ELIOT,  GEORGE. 

Romola   and   Savonarola 477 

ERSKINE,  LORD. 

Freedom  of  the  Press 315 

EVERETT,  EDWARD. 

Character   of   Washington 331 

Eulogy   on   Lafayette 334 

FERGUSON,  SAMUEL. 

Forging   of   the   Anchor 480 

FINCH,  F.  M. 

Blue  and  the  Gray,  The 259 

FINK,  W.  W. 
Larrie   O'Dee 176 

GRADY,  HENRY  W. 

New  South,  The 305 

GRATTAN,  HENRY. 

Grattan's  Reply  to  Corry 336 

HALL,  ROBERT. 

Apostrophe  to  the  Volunteers . .   320 

HARTE,  BRET. 

Bill  Mason's  Bride 389 

Chiquita     195 

Her    Letter 473 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg. ...  41 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


599 


Page 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL. 
Elf-Child    and     the    Minister, 
The    463 

HAY,  JOHN. 
Jim  Bludsoe 419 

HAYNE,  ROBERT  YOUNG. 

South    Carolina 295 

HOGG,  JAMES. 

When  the  Kye  Come  Hame..  278 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL. 
Ballad  of  the  Oysterman,  The.   154 
One-Hoss  Shay,  The 193 

HOOD,  THOMAS. 
Dream  of  Eugene  Aram 509 

HOUGHTON,  LORD. 
Brookside,    The 61 

HOWE,  JULIA  WARD. 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic. .   524 

HUGO,  VICTOR. 
Jean  Valjean 515 

HUNT,  LEIGH. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem 445 

Cupid   Swallowed 132 

Glove  and  the  Lions,  The ....  462 

INGELOW,  JEAN. 

Echo  and  the  Ferry , . . ,  404 

High-Tide 540 

Longing  for  Home 232 

KINGSLEY,  CHARLES. 

Lorraine    567 

KIPLING,  RUDYARD. 

Gunga    Din , 415 

Recessional,  The 292 

Mandalay    270 

KLEIN,  CHARLES. 

The  Lion  and  the  Mouse 534 

KNOWLES,  SHERIDAN. 
T5II  Anaong  the  Mountains...   501 


Page 
LE  FAUN,  J.  S. 

Shamus    0*Brien 45^ 

LEVER,  CHARLES. 

Widow   Malone 152 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM. 

Gettysburg  Address 75 

LINDSAY,  LADY  A. 

Auld  Robin  Gray 252 

LOCKE,  D.  R. 

Hannah  Jane 44 

LONGFELLOW,   HENRY 
WADSWORTH. 

Endymion    265 

Evangeline  on  the  Prairie 269 

Hymn  to  the  Night 290 

King  Robert  of  Sicily 366 

Launching  of  the  Ship,  The..  439 
Miles   Standish's   Encounter...  350 

Morituri    Salutamus 455 

Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs,  The. .  254 

Rainy  Day,  The 258 

Sandalphon     277 

Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The..  446 

LOVER,   SAMUEL. 

Birth  of  St.  Patrick,  The 156 

Low-Backed  Car,  The 155 

Subscription  List,  The 164 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL. 

Courtin',    The 157 

LYTTON,  SIR  EDWARD. 

Richelieu    581 

Song   54 

LYTTON,  ROBERT  BULWER- 
Aux    Italiens 467 

LYTLE,  WM.  H. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 415 

McCarthy,  justin 

HUNTLY. 

If  I  were  King 527 

The  Burgundian  Defiance....  529 


600 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Page 
MACKLIN,  CHARLES. 
Utility  of  Booing,  The 585 

MACAULAY,  LORD. 

Battle  of  Ivry,  The 353 

Horatius  at  the  Bridge 372 

Passage  of  the  Reform  BiH...  126 

Virginia 553 

MAHONY,  FRANCIS. 
Bells  of  Shandon,  The 266 

MARCH,  CHARLES  W. 
Description  of  Webster's 

Speech    83 

MARKHAM,  EDWARD. 

Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the  People  383 

MILLER,  EMILY  HUNT- 
INGTON. 
Empty  Nest,  The 240 

MILLER,  JOAQUIN. 

Columbus    566 

MITFORD,  MARY  RUSSELL. 
Rienzi  to  the  Romans 425 

MONTGOMERY,  JAMES. 

Funeral    Hymn 263 

O'CONNELL,  DANIEL. 
Repeal  of  the  Union 311 

PERRY,  NORA. 

Riding   Down 147 

Romance  of  a  Rose,  The 503 

PHILLIPS,  WENDELL. 

Daniel    O'Connell 80 

Extract  from  Toussaint 

L'Ouverture    77 

Idols    325 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture 327 

PIERPONT,  JOHN. 

Passing  Away 58 

W^arren's    Address .   363 

PLUNKET,  LORD. 

Irish  Parliament,  The 297 


Pacje 
POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN. 

Annabel    Lee 27  5 

Raven,    The 570 

POPE,  ALEXANDER. 

Dying  Christian,  The 502 

PROCTER,  ADELAIDE  A. 

Lost    Chord,    The 289 

PROCTER,  BRYAN  WALLER. 
Petition  to  Time,  A 275 

READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN. 

Bards,  The 291 

Brushwood ^72 

Drifting 55 

Revolutionary  Rising,  The 498 

RILEY,  JAMES  WHITCOMB. 

Knee-Deep   in   June 574 

South  Wind  and  the  Sun,  The  132 

ROBERTS,  CHARLES  G.  D. 

Ballad  of  the  Brook,  The....   139 

SCHURZ,  CARL. 

Eulogy  on  Charles  Sumner...   323 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER. 
Amy  Robsart  and  Richard  Var- 

ney    448 

'Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine 344 

Boat  Song ,  494 

Countess   Amy   and   Her   Hus- 
band,   The 451 

Fitz-James  and  Rhoderick  Dhu  557 

Lochinvar    427 

Marmion  and  Douglas 342 

SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM. 

Cassius  on  Honour 391 

Extract  from  Romeo  and  Juliet    60 

Hamlet  to  the  Players loi 

Henry  V.'s  Wooing 149 

Quarrel  of  BruUis  and  Cassius  420 
Scene  from  Henry  the  Fourth.  489 

SHANLY,  CHARLES  DAWSON. 
Kitty  of  Coleraine. 16c 


INDEX  OF 

Page 

SHELLEY,  PERCY  BYSSHE. 
To  a  Skylark 141 

SHERIDAN,  RICHARD 
BRINSLEY. 
Lady  Teazle  and  Sir  Peter...   197 

SHERWOOD,  M.  E.  W. 

Carcassonne    262 

STOWE,  HARRIET  BEECHER. 
Aaron   Burr  and  Mary  Scud- 
der    128 

SUMNER,   CHARLES. 

Incentives  to  Duty 73 

TAYLOR,  BENJAMIN  F. 

Storming  of  Mission  Ridge...  299 

TENNYSON,  LORD. 

Break,   Break,   Break 239 

Bower  Scene  from  Becket,  The  562 

Bugle   Song,  The 475 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade, 

The   355 

Come  Into  the  Garden,  Maud.  142 

Edward    Gray 244 

Extract  from  the  Lotus-Eaters.  60 

Guinevere   400 

Lady  Clare 483 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere....  568 

Lady  of  Shalott,  The 385 

Revenge,    The 505 

Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells ! 577 

Selections  from  Enoch  Arden.  229 

Song  of  the  Brook 13^ 


AUTHORS  601 

Page 
THACKERAY,  WILLIAM 
MAKEPEACE. 

George  the  Third 104 

White  Squall,  The 172 

THURSTON,  JOHN  M. 

Plea  for  Cuba,  A 30X 

TROWBRIDGE,  J.  T. 

Charcoal  Man,  The 116 

Vagabonds,   The %....  379 

WALLACE,  LEW. 

The  Angel  and  the  Shepherds  525 

WALLER,  J.  F. 
Magdalena  or  the  Spanish  Duel  431 

WEBSTER,  DANIEL. 

Crime   Its  Own   Detecter 80 

South  Carolina  and  Massachu- 
setts       75 

WESTWOOD,  T. 

Voices  at  the  Throne 483 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  G. 
Three  Bells,  The , 438 

WHITMAN,  WALT. 

O   Captain!   My  Captain!....  384 

WILSON,  WOODROW. 

Extract    from    Inaugural    Ad- 
dress     308 

WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM. 
Daffodils,  The 131 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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